


Anansi

by Providentia67



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Animal Traits, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Family, Family Bonding, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:43:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 115,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentia67/pseuds/Providentia67
Summary: Virgil has... secrets.  To be fair, all the sides do.  But his tend toward the more Dark, and sinister.  You can't help where you come from.  Where your origins are.  But  somewhere down the line he'd left it all behind.  He and the Light sides were friends now.  They trusted him.  Too bad Deceit will never let him forget.---“What about the Light sides?”The spider considers.  True, as his own aspect Creativity and almost certainly Logic will never let him get close enough to influence Thomas directly.  He glances to the serpent who is eyeing him curiously.  A tired grin creeps its way on Thomas Sanders’ face.  “You’re not the only fount of untruth, Deceit.”Something more neutral will serve his design.  Something Dark, but not abyssal.“Then what name shall I know you by?” Deceit asks.The spider spins the first thread of a new web.  “How about… Anxiety.”
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 253
Kudos: 488





	1. Chapter 1

It comes into awareness of the intruder in measured steps. Slithering along the silken threads of consciousness with as unobtrusive a touch as it can manage.

Foolish. Nothing ever truly fades from It’s perception, each and every corner of the realms and mindscapes that culminate in the being that is Thomas Sanders has its place in It’s web. And It is a careful, dedicated keeper. Maintaining each thread, testing their strength in equal measure. The serpent has no hope of going unnoticed.

A singular, far-reaching limb contracts, bringing its piercing fore down a mere whim from the serpent’s more beastly head. _ “Deceit.” _

The lesser head strikes on instinct, baring fangs and lashing out to inject its poison into It’s limb, but it never gets the chance. It knows the denizens of the Dark and their natures even better than they know themselves, and a second great limb knocks the head off-course. The serpent tumbles through the black void and It shifts. Resettling its great form to give the side its full focus. One limb resettles at a more forgiving distance from the yellow snake while the second retracts, settling far and away where others cannot see it.

“Wasss that really necessary?” The serpent’s form shifts and grows until it coalesces in its human shape. The greater head forming half of Thomas Sanders’ face while the other keeps its reptilian origins. 

It hisses in disgust. Such a glaring weakness to wear so proudly as Deceit does. No matter how clever, how discerning and silver-tongued. To any who care to take a second look, the side’s true nature is glaring for any to see. _ “Did you really think you could approach unnoticed?” _

Deceit glares, serpentine tongue darting through the cracked and dislocated break in the lesser half of his jaw. Unable to perceive It’s true location, the narrowed eyes roam the dark without focus. “All in good fun, my old friend. I meant no harm.”

A lie. And not a very good one. It lifts its limb and brings it down hard enough to shake the foundations beneath them. Beyond, the web shudders and Thomas Sanders looks over his shoulder. It does not end the fit until Deceit lifts from the mock bow he has delivered. The shaking hands It notices brings it satisfaction. _ “Why are you here?” _

In a rare show of deference, the snake removes the strange hat from his head and dips into a modest bow. “To make a request.”

A shiver of intrigue, and It’s many limbs begin to strum the threads around them. Absorbing every inch of data it can process for what situation would call for Deceit to make this supplication. 

_ “Oh?” _

“We need your help.” 

_ “We?” _There could only be one Deceit is referring to, and with an impatient sweep of another limb It pulls the Duke from whatever inglorious pit of disgrace he is reveling in and deposits the discarded half of creativity into the space on Deceit’s left. The lesser half has poorer sight, and the two will be unable to communicate if the Duke can only send silent messages to the serpent-half.

The final side of the Dark struggles to his feet, the ever-manic glint to Thomas Sanders’ eyes spoiling with a note of fear. A roiling, slime-covered tentacle flops to the ground as the Duke loses partial control of his form. Setting aside revulsion for the moment, It settles two great limbs on either of the pair’s shoulders, reminding them of in whose presence it is they sit. Both shiver. 

With a twitch, Deceit is pushed forward. For as untrustworthy as the serpent is, the octopus is so rarely focused or coherent. It will parcel the truth from the many lies instead. _ “Speak.” _

“Well,” the snake begins. “Obviously we don’t need your help. Remus and I are fully capable of performing the duty of serenading our dear Thomas to the side of the Dark while you whittle away your time… eh- wherever here is.” The snake sniffs and makes a dismissive gesture the void around them. 

_ “You suggest I am not fulfilling my purpose!” _a third limb brandishes itself beneath Deceit’s chin, and behind him, the Duke sprouts a second tentacle out of fear. Jaundiced scales spread across Deceit’s human half. 

“Of course not!” The side flinches as It hisses. “Merely that, with the three Light sides taking such active, vocal roles in Thomas’ conscience, we two,” a gesture to the Duke who nods with vigorous enthusiasm, ink dripping from his fingers. “Can only accomplish so much.”

An… interesting sentiment. It withdraws its third limb and pushes Deceit back to a more respectful distance. Then considers. As all-encompassing its influence… it destabilizes the thread leading to the realm of Logic. Beyond, Thomas Sanders second-guesses the answer to a question he has studied for many hours before.

The study-guide could have had a misprint, after all.

Nothing is beyond It’s reach, and yet… Logic reassures Thomas not a moment later and the Dark recedes. Is their power, impotent?

_ “What do you suggest?” _

“Well, an actual body might be nice,” says the Duke, who renders down into his cephalopod form to escape the vicious lashing of It’s great limb. The moldy-green octopus slips away into the inky void and It allows the retreat. The limb follows, and the octopus will know better than to think It is not watching.

“As delicate as that was put, our lovely Remus has a point.” Deceit raises both hands as he garners the brunt of It’s attention. “You are more powerful than either of us. Perish the thought of what you could do if you took the fight to the Light directly.”

_ “A form is limited. It comes with… vulnerabilities.” _ The very inkling sends It shivering, limbs dancing along the web with unease. _ “Why should I risk it?” _

“You mean you don’t care if your influence on Thomas is minimal?” Deceit gasps in mock horror. “I suppose we don’t all care about doing what’s best for him.”

Deceit is… right, oddly enough. It works the dilemma over fast enough to make Logic proud and comes to an uncomfortable realization. With great reluctance, it recalls its limbs. Leaving their imperceptible influence as eight great arms retract and sink in the pale, fleshy plane of Thomas’ back. The spider dislodges itself from its carefully crafted web and descends to the foundation of the void, now taking on the soft texture of carpeting. He shivers as his once great form shrinks and conforms to the shape of Thomas Sanders, reserving only the dark shadows under eyes that have never shown themselves to light.

He is to some degree shocked and disconcerted to find his new body to be smaller, frailer than Deceit. The serpent does not miss the detail and smirks, serpent jaw cracking in a silent, unnaturally wide, laugh. The spider hisses and one purple limb sprouts from the back of the hoodie clothing his human form to strike the lesser Dark side across the face.

“Careful, Deceit. Despite appearances,_ never forget what_ _I am_.” 

The serpent groans, glaring through amber eyes, but nods. “Wait, you’re not actually going are you?”

A half-hearted shrug and he starts towards the newly formed stairs that will lead to the neutral space of Thomas’ mind. “Why not? You had a good idea, I’m taking advantage.” 

“What about the Light sides?”

The spider considers. True, as his own aspect Creativity and almost certainly Logic will never let him get close enough to influence Thomas directly. He glances to the serpent who is eyeing him curiously. A tired grin creeps its way on Thomas Sanders’ face. “You’re not the only fount of untruth, Deceit.”

Something more neutral will serve his design. Something Dark, but not abyssal. 

“Then what name shall I know you by?” Deceit asks.

The spider spins the first thread of a new web. “How about… Anxiety.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Two years later… **

As the venerable prince himself makes his swift departure, Virgil swallows back the bile in his throat. It goes down like rough hewn stone.

“Virgil? You okay, buddy?”

“Huh?”

Thomas, ever the caretaker looks to the side with something like concern. Given the young man looks fit to keel over himself, Anxiety finds that even his cynical, embittered heart can appreciate the gesture. The unmanifested spider-leg Virgil has strewn across his host’s shoulders tightens its grip. 

“Oh, uh yeah. I-I just… I’m a little,” he scratches at the side of his head and finds himself unable to keep his eyes focused on any one thing. The effort to hold the concerned gaze sitting across from him, too great a weight to carry. “I’m a little disappointed in myself.”

It dawns on the wayward Dark side that what he is doing here, confessing, is a potentially disastrous decision. Thomas looks confused, brow arched to an almost Roman-like display of confusion. It makes something in the spider’s heart stutter and the words come just a little bit easier.

“I thought that I would be able to… protect you from them.” He lets his shoulders drop, defeated and repentant. Never commit all your efforts to one task, he reminds himself. You only set yourself up to fail.

“Uh.” Thomas considers for a moment then asks, “the Dark sides?”

Something in the way his host says it stings. “The others,” he corrects, although he knows the term ‘Dark’ is the truer description. The parts hidden away, never to see the light of day. “I- I thought… I thought I knew how to handle them.”

The spider wonders when all the control had slipped from his grasp. The mere fact that the Duke -overgrown cephalopod that he was- had _ dared _interfere in Virgil’s designs was bordering on disgraceful. How long had it been since the worm had appeared in his presence willingly? Deceit was one thing, but had the lesser Dark sides really been left to their own devices for so long that they no longer feared his reach?

It takes effort, but Virgil extends his perceptions to the other seven of his limbs beyond the one he has maintained guarded around Thomas. The farther he goes, the more dulled, numbed the sensations become. The leg anchored in the tar-like pit of the Duke’s hole of iniquity shudders and Anxiety is gifted with the fleeting awareness of the octopus absconding in a flurry of writhing tentacles.

The satisfaction is enough for him to let his presence shrink back in time to listen to Thomas’ encouraging words. “Oh, well, I-I think we’re all trying to figure them out for now. It’ll take some time to figure everything out.” He says it with such heartfelt camaraderie that somehow the good intentions loop back around to becoming knives in Virgil’s skin.

“Yeah, but I should know better.” He wants Thomas to understand without having to spell it out for him. But perhaps by Patton’s influence, or Roman’s contagious idiocy, it doesn’t seem like he will get what he wants.

“Isn’t that kind of unfair?” says Thomas. “Why should you be held to a different standard than any other side?”

It is his last chance to let the matter drop and go back to the same routine the spider has allowed himself to grow comfortably settled into. But the growing weight carried on his back extending to the far reaches of Thomas Sanders’ being act as a constant reminder that no matter what he chooses to let the others believe, one thing will always be true.

“Because, I was one of them.”

For an agonizing, endless moment Thomas’ face goes blank, and he says nothing. Virgil wills the eyeshadow under his eyes to darken, hiding the horror beneath. Then, he lets himself sink away.

He doesn’t need to see Thomas’ burgeoning trust in him die.

\---

Dark Creativity darts through the inky depths of his corner of Thomas’ subconscious in a half-mad blur of fear and arousal. He didn’t know it could feel so… euphoric. Being so close to the full conscience of their host. To stand on equal footing with the spider itself before Thomas Sanders and _ survive. _ Ooh, the very thought sends quivers along his many tentacles, disrupting his path as he races to put as much distance between himself and the shifting arm of the spider as possible. Only when brackish mire gives way to the drifting sands of Deceit’s domain does the Duke allow himself to slow.

Sludge-covered limbs pull in around themselves until it is Remus standing in the octopus’ stead. A quick survey of his surroundings confirms that ‘Virgil’ had not maintained his awareness of the Duke’s movements, and Dark Creativity gleams. Without threat of impalement -as fun as that might be- hovering over his head, he can get back to the task at hand.

He wanders the shifting dunes of Deceit’s mindscape until he reaches the serpent’s miniature kingdom. A cracked throne, great stone spires extending in a sunburst pattern around a particularly uncomfortable looking chair where the side himself lounges, one leg thrown over the arm of the throne while he rests his head in the heel of an open palm.

A single, serpentine eye shimmers as it catches sight of Remus.

“Ah, my beacon of hope makes his triumphant return.” Deceit rights himself and claps his gloved hands, head tipped to shadow the snake-half of his face. “Tell me, how fares our fearless leader?”

Remus shrugs, tossing his hand and picking deodorant from between his teeth. “Languishing away with those wet blankets as always,” he says. “You’ve seen it yourself, don’t know what you wanted me to poke around for.”

“Call it a second opinion.” Deceit slaps his hands on his thighs and climbs up to his feet. “You know, I paid them all a visit not too long ago.” 

“Oh?”

“Almossst convinced Thomas himself to give in to selfish opportunity.” Remus watches with buzzing fascination as Deceit tilts his head up and hisses, his long, forked tongue fluttering in the air for a moment before slipping back into the side’s cavernous mouth. “Would have worked too, if not for someone’s better half.” A yellow snake eye glares in Remus’ direction to which Dark Creativity bites his thumb in return. “Think of what Thomas could have accomplished if he’d just listened to me.” 

Both Dark sides sigh, wistful. But then Deceit’s expression darkens and his form gives way, scales engulfing both sides of Thomas Sanders’ face until the side resembles more snake than man. “And worssse yet, there’s _ Virgil _ parading himself like sssssome kind of paragon of light, dragging his feet to help me!”

Remus considers, twisting the length of his mustache. “You know I didn’t actually believe you when you said he’d chosen a human name.” Fitting in a way, Remus can find no fault with the choice though it wouldn’t have been his personal decision. It hardly matters besides.

Not like the spider ever asked or cared for his opinion.

Deceit however, appears to rankle. “I had to learn it second-hand while impersonating that buffoon, Morality.”

“And?” Remus was beginning to grow bored with Deceit’s tangential anecdotes, and mulling over Anxiety’s human name had given him all sorts of… wonderfully _ juicy _ideas that were divinely comedic in nature. “What’s your point?”

“My _ point _, Remusss, is that we have ourselves a situation that must be handled delicately. You must have noticed it, the spider is fading away.”

“The spider? Fade?” Dark Creativity blows a raspberry into the air. “Impossible. Anxiety’s spun his way into the inner circle of Thomas’ primary personalities.”

“That’s just it!” Snapping his fingers, Deceit’s unhinged jaw swings wide in growing agitation. “Anxiety has, not the spider. He’s pulling farther and farther from the Dark, Remus. And we’re losing him.”

The Duke blinks. “I still don’t follow.”

“Argh,” Deceit sighs and draws his hand along the length of his face, returning it to it’s normal half-human state. “Anxiety was only ever meant to be a clever facade. A glamour, if you will, to hide his true nature.” Deceit snaps his fingers and the wind picks up around them, blowing sand in an eastward gale until a new structure is revealed. The great spider limb, the one dedicated to monitoring Deceit and the threads of the Dark side’s web associated with such, appears seemingly out of nowhere. 

Remus follows in mild fascination as Deceit stalks up to the limb and pulls the glove from one of his hands. Delicate, scaled fingers brush the length of the gargantuan leg and Deceit lays the human side of his face against the arachnid appendage.

“It hasn’t moved in almost a year,” he says, wistful and perhaps a little sad. Dark Creativity would feel like he were intruding, had he any sense of reverence or delicacy. “If this continues he’ll lose all connection to his true nature. We won’t be the three Dark sides any more, just the two.”

That has Remus sprouting a tentacle. Deceit may have inroads through the more dense personalities of the inner circle, but Remus has always ever fought the losing fight against Roman. If Anxiety were to truly turn, his intimate knowledge of Deceit’s nature could tip the scales of balance and erase the Dark’s influence on Thomas completely.

The Duke looks up to the towering limb, powerful enough to span Light and Dark, crafty enough to spin a web of influence too complex for a lesser side like Remus to ever understand. The Dark could not afford to lose him.

“I assume you have a plan, then?” Remus licks a trickle of oil from the corner of his mouth. The serpent of Deceit had hatched in the wake of the spider’s becoming, after all. Whatever plot he would scheme was almost assured to be as delicious as it was cruel. 

Deceit lingers, embracing the dormant limb in his arms for a moment longer before turning to Remus. His serpent eye glows. “Simple. We remind the spider of what he is.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I have questions.” 

Virgil watches with quiet humor as Logan’s brusk interjection kills Roman’s enthusiasm in its crib. Their fanciful prince halts in the midst of his wild gesticulating to narrow a glare at the cold face of logic.

“About what?” he asks, voice droll and shoulders already slipping. It shouldn’t entertain him so much watching the light sides bicker, but it does.

“In this, narrative, you’ve concocted,” Logan begins, adjusting the set of his glasses. “I don’t see the practicality of the antagonist taking such a large, cumbersome form. She was already performing at peak effectiveness. It was only a matter of time before the protagonist succumbed to her superior offensive tactics and as a humanoid she presents a much smaller target. As it stands, becoming a large reptilian beast with questionable motor control and peripheral vision-”

Virgil settles in as Logan continues on his narrative deconstruction. Despite the natural discomfort of spending any length of time in Morality’s room, he is finding this particular foray to be a great deal more bearable. He settles himself against the banister of the stairs, hood pulled up, and allows his eyes to slide shut. The weight of memories in the air always drains his energy, and he has to fight the urge to fall into a doze. With the sounds of Roman and Logan chattering away in the background, the fight gets just a little bit harder.

“Hey, Virgil. Kiddo, you doing okay?” 

A hand to his shoulder startles him awake. At some point Patton has crossed the unspoken boundary of space between them to find a new spot sitting on the steps beside him. Their moral center has his legs drawn up and rests his chin on his knees, smile present as ever but small, content. “Looked like we’d lost you there, for a sec.”

“Ah yeah, sorry about that.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes with the cuff of his hoodie, careful to avoid smearing the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Story time plus memory lane kind of spells bedtime to me.”

Instead of getting offended and generally annoyed as it is Anxiety’s nature to assume, Patton tilts his head back and laughs. “Aw, that’s adorable!” Virgil’s whole body breaks out in burning tingles when Patton reaches over and wraps him in a quick hug. “If it’s too much for you, you can go back to your room. I know being here can be hard for you.”

Fighting the instinctive pull to let his legs unsheath from his back and impale Thomas Sanders’ morality, Virgil hides the uncomfortable roll of his shoulders with a lopsided shrug. “S'fine,” he mutters into the heel of his hand. He is careful to keep his focus on Roman as he quite literally conjures his imagined dragon-witch for he and Logan to dissect. He lets out a slow, exhaling sigh when Patton finally lets him go. “I want to watch the fireworks.”

“They do get into it, don’t they.” Morality scoots closer, but this time is cognizant of Virgil’s discomfort enough not to touch.

“Logan’s got a point,” says Anxiety, eyeing the towering figure of Roman’s imaginary fiend. He stares into glowing green eyes, intent on malice, and wonders how the creature would fare against a figure with four more limbs and an even nastier disposition. “It’s kind of cheap isn’t it? Blaming the antagonist’s ego for turning into a bigger, badder form even though it’s less effective. Especially when they were winning too.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense.”

Logan crosses his arms and dips his head. “Yes, exactly. Thank you, Anxiety.”

Roman loses his breath in a sweep that sounds as if he’s been sucker-punched. The dragon-witch disperses and the prince holds his head in his hands for a moment before gesturing beseechingly in Virgil and Patton’s general direction. “Virgil! Whose side are you on?”

“Hey.” He lifts both hands and crosses his arms. “Not on anyone’s side. Just saying you could do better than the general plot synopsis to any Power Rangers episode.”

There is a snap of fingers and Logan clears his throat. “Incorrect. In Power Rangers, generally the weekly antagonist only increases their size after suffering a round of defeat. Roman’s progression of events skipped even this fundamental step.”

“Now kids, let’s be nice. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

“Well, Patton, what do you think?” Roman gestures to their sweater-wearing side and taps his foot at a rabbit’s pace.

“Oh me? Shucks guys, I’m not much of a story-teller.”

“Hmph,” Virgil has to stifle back his snicker. “Not even bedtime stories… dad?”

For a moment the general density of giddy reverie intensifies in the room and Virgil shudders. It already feels like he’s sitting fully clothed in a sauna he doesn’t need the feeling like honey-soaked cotton is being stuffed down his throat too. But, Patton does look unspeakably happy so, there’s that he supposes.

“Did you just call me, Dad?”

“M’nope. Don’t recall that happening at all.” And there, he can breathe again as Morality wilts.

“Oh for the love of all that’s bright and sparkly answer the question, man!” Roman’s increasing distress is enough to draw attention away from Virgil, for which he is grateful. Patton starts his own overwhelmingly supportive assessment of Roman’s proposed story plot and for a while, Anxiety lets himself once again drift. He’ll need to spend some serious time in his own room after this to recover, but for the moment all the warmth around him almost feels like home. When it’s not making him feel like he’s sitting on hot coals, at the very least.

He catches Logan eyeing him at one point, but at least he knows Logic will wait to discuss the string of concern brewing behind those too-observant eyes in private.

“And besides,” Patton concludes as Virgil pulls himself together enough to pay close attention. He breathes in slow and begins the exercise that has become the norm for him. He holds it for seven seconds.

“Is a dragon-witch really the most terrifying thing the villain could think of?” Logic and Creativity both come up short and watch Morality with matching expressions of stunned confusion. Anxiety moves into an exhale.

“You- you’re saying it’s not scary enough?” asks Logan. “Just to clarify.”

Patton raises his hands and shrugs. “Well… yeah. A big snake with legs? Kinda reminds me Deceit, and he’s not all that scary.”

“The man single-handedly impersonated you for almost an entire video and nearly convinced Thomas that lying was good,” says Roman.

“Roman, you yourself said that Deceit was a very kind individual.” Logan and Patton share a conspiratorial look and Virgil isn’t fast enough to catch his snort of amusement. “However,” Logic continues. “I must agree with Roman that it seems uncharacteristic of you to fault the level of fear his creation inspires, Patton.”

“I only mean… that there are other things to turn into that are even scarier.”

Roman scoffs. “Like what?”

“Well,” Morality claps his eyes shut with one hand. “Like this.” Patton waves his free arm and suddenly, in the void of space Roman’s dragon-witch once occupied stands an equally gargantuan beast that looks something between Aragog from Harry Potter and Shelob from Lord of the Rings.

Both Logan and Roman shriek.

“See!” Morality says, still not lifting the hand from his eyes. “Like I said before, creepy-crawly deathdealers.”

“Okay, okay we get it just… disappear them already, gah!” Roman’s face twists in distaste and he makes a shooing motion with his arms.

Virgil would comment on the irony of the brave prince persona being too chicken to even look at something that came out of the darkest parts of Patton’s imagination, but he is too caught up in staring at the creature set before him. He imagines in his own mind that the soulless eyes staring down at them are alight in a purple sheen. That the limbs holding its great body upright are much larger, longer. Long enough to span the breadth of realms. And a perfect, inescapable web would be its throne.

_Never forget what I am._

The spider stirs. Clicking massive fangs from salivating jaws the nightmare creature shifts its legs once, twice, before dispersing in a mist of sepia dust. Patton lowers his makeshift blindfold and snaps his fingers. “I think I’ve proved my point.”

Logan coughs into his hand. “Indeed.”

“No!” Roman shakes his head and brings his fist down against his open palm. “Something like-like that monstrosity doesn’t make a good villain at all!”

This earns him a thoughtful hum from Logan. “How do you mean?”

“Something so ghastly that not even the audience wants to look it's way is effective, yes. But no one will ever enjoy it.”

“Princey’s right.” And Virgil can’t believe he’s saying it. “The antagonist has to be intimidating, yes. And honestly Roman you can do better than a cliche dragon-type thing. That’s just the honest truth, buddy.” Roman looks like he wants to protest, but stops himself since Virgil is still technically agreeing with him for the moment.

“But they also need to be manageable, something that the protagonist can reasonably overcome. I think what Roman’s aiming for here is a monster that’s equal parts awe and terror.”

“EXACTLY. Thank you, Anxiety.”

Virgil holds up his hand. “This doesn’t mean I’m on your side.”

“Didn’t think that for a second, fence-sitter.” Roman turns to Logic. “Well?”

“I cede your point,” says Logan with a quiet sigh. “Though we still have yet to find a suitable compromise. Virgil, any ideas?”

“What, me?” All eyes go to Virgil and he forgets to hold his breath before releasing. He has to resist the urge to blink away and descend into his own room to escape the attention.

“Yes, you embody a great deal of Thomas’ understanding of fear. What creature would you suggest?” 

“Why don’t we just let Roman do the whole imagination thing?” he tries, but even Creativity does not seem keen on the idea.

“No, no, I’m curious now,” says the prince. “Go on, give us your best shot.”

“Guys, I really don’t feel like _ doing this_.” Virgil claps his hand over his mouth as his voice begins to turn. Yes, he’s definitely spent too long in Patton’s room. He needs to leave.

“Anxiety, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Patton at least is a saving grace, and their moral aspect pulls attention away from where Virgil is becoming one with the banister. “Let’s ease up, everyone.”

Patton flutters his hands and Roman and Logan each take an obliging step back. Virgil shuts his eyes and takes the opportunity to go through another breathing cycle. In. Hold. Release.

“_Thanks, Patton._”

“You feel free to go if you need to, kiddo. We understand.”

Shaking his head, Virgil shudders as bile rises up in his throat. He keeps a hand clamped thoroughly shut across his mouth. “_ M’fine _.”

“You obviously are not," says Logan. "Gentlemen, I propose we table this discussion for another time.” He looks from Morality to Creativity and pretends not to send a side-long look to where Anxiety is trying very hard not to be sick. “Perhaps Thomas can serve as mediator whenever he decides to wake up.”

The sigh that Roman gives is enough to make Virgil roll his eyes even in his own state. “But I wanted this project to be a wonderful dream for Thomas to experience right before waking. Think of the inspiration it could stir!”

“Roman!” snaps Patton, bringing the prince up short. “Not now.”

It is at this point that Virgil’s resilience gives out. Unable to hold his presence in Morality’s room he sinks into the floor, letting the anchor of his incorporeal form lead him into a controlled fall. The last he hears of the others is Roman’s voice. Small, and unusually timid. “... Oh.”

The dark, looming shadows of his room are a welcome balm as Anxiety collapses in a heap onto the cobweb-infested mess of Thomas’ couch. His stomach is turning end over end and if he does not find a way to ground himself and re-energize quick, he’s afraid he’s going to vomit. Unfortunate that there’s really only one way for him to do that.

Cognizant of the Light sides still present in Morality’s room he sloughs off his purple hoodie, if only to give the illusion of more breathing room for his hidden limbs to sprout. He does so carefully, groaning as long-underused muscles begin to move. The immediate cramping forces a moan that Virgil smothers into the couch arm as first one segmented limb slides out from beneath his shoulder blade. Followed by another, and another, until all eight of his legs lay sprawled out in an undignified heap around him. Two holding the couch arm on either side of his head, another three draped over the back of the couch, and the remainder left to sprawl across the ground.

His whole body is shaking from the effort and sweat drips from his every pore. He can’t even bring himself to think of reaching for the incorporeal limbs. The eight great legs he put aside two years ago to wear the disguise of Anxiety. Besides the one that always hovers in Thomas’ shadow, ready to protect his host at a moment’s notice, the other seven he can scarcely feel. At this point, letting the spider settle into its web for a while will have to suffice.

The gothic persona of his room blurs and at the point of contact of each limb his legs flex, coating themselves in Virgil’s web. The touch is like cool water flowing up and into him to soothe the burning ache of Morality’s nostalgia. He forgets sometimes what too much Light will do to him.

He doesn’t know how long he revels in his little corner of the Dark. But when he startles awake it is to a presence similar enough to himself to escape detection until he spoke.

“Why my dear misery, would you like some company?”

Virgil squints one eye open, just to confirm who he thinks it is, then lets it shut again. “What do you want, Deceit?”

An icy, scaled palm settles in the small column of his back that acts as the junction for his limbs and Virgil cannot help but sigh. Self-delusion is such a familiar presence to the spider that the touch eases the remainder of his discomfort and lets him truly rest.

“Nothing at all,” the serpent says, beginning a soothing pattern of strokes from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back. He settles cross-legged on the ground, nestled between two of Virgil’s legs. 

Virgil scoffs into the fabric of the couch arm, but cannot force himself to shoo the dark side away. “Liar,” he says in compromise.

“Maybe. But let me help you anyways. It’s been a long time since you’ve let yourself be Dark.” 

“_ Don’t need your help, _” mumbles the spider, but he is already drifting off to a much-needed sleep.

He fades as Deceit’s human thumb brushes the shadows beneath his exposed eye. “Now who’s the liar?”


	4. Chapter 4

Deceit waits for the spider’s breathing to slow to a rate more indicative of deep rest before he lets the cracked smile slip from his face. His thumb pauses at the corner of Virgil’s eye and, letting his breath go in a slow exhale, he shifts his hand up into the messy tumble of hair above. Here, in the corner of Thomas Sanders’ mind that wholly belongs to Anxiety the side’s hair has retaken the violet hue Virgil had once grown so accustomed to.

“What a sad sight you make like this,” he remarks to the sleeping creature beside him. Climbing to his feet, Deceit lets Virgil’s hair slip between his fingers and goes back to his careful ministrations. Massaging the knotted muscles of the spider’s back and easing each leg into a more comfortable position to encourage the flow of energy back into the side. When he wakes, Virgil will feel more rested than Deceit suspects he has been in some time.

Mindful of where he steps, Deceit maneuvers his way to the far end of the couch and settles himself near the opposite end, conjuring himself a copy of _ The Murder of Roger Ackroyd _ to entertain himself while he waits for the spider to recover. He is only mildly surprised when the room’s cobwebs begin to latch onto him. They are followed soon after by the soft touch of hairy legs settling themselves on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Deceit spots the blinking, inquisitive eyes of an orange-and-black tarantula.

“Ah, Charlotte. So nice to see you again.” 

The tarantula does not respond other than to crawl along the length of his shoulders to the side closer to Virgil. The arachnid looks to Deceit once, and thrusts a foreleg in the other side’s direction.

“Not doing well I’m afraid. Spent a bit too much time in Morality’s room.” 

The tarantula makes a quiet hissing sound and the serpent laughs in return, tongue slipping out to taste the air before hiding away. Deceit offers the tarantula his palm. “Don’t worry, I know he doesn’t like to be defenseless. Between you and I, I’m sure we can keep watch until he’s ready to wake up.” 

Charlotte climbs aboard, sitting patiently in the seat of his yellow gloves until Deceit lowers her close enough to crawl instead onto the nearest of Virgil’s legs. The tarantula offers him a parting hiss before making her way down the leg and then up to a pocket of space at the base of Virgil’s neck.

Deceit gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “Charlotte I’m hurt. What makes you think I have _ any _ill intentions toward your dear Anxiety?”

The tarantula does little more than stare at him from her post. 

“Well fine, believe what you will. But we dark sides must stick together, and I’m hardly going to let the man destroy himself trying to be something he’s not.”

He takes Charlotte’s silence as her reluctant agreement and smirks. “He may not want me here. But we both know he needs it.”

Whatever qualms the spider might have on acknowledging the past, Deceit was not one to ever forget. Together, snake and spider had once upheld the strength of Thomas Sanders’ self-preservation. They’d danced a waltz of self-servitude and Deceit had helped the spider to begin a web so intricate and divine it was great and terrible to behold.

Deceit grimaces to himself.

He did not stand at the spider’s side for so long to let Virgil simply throw it all away. And for what? The trio of undue optimism, dense pragmatism, and buffoonery? The spider was too great a being for such an ignoble end.

“You hungry, Charlotte?” Snapping his book away, Deceit leaps over the back of the couch and makes for what he knows will be a well-stocked refrigerator in the kitchen. The gleam of the refrigerator lights is shocking enough to the system to make Deceit hiss, but inside he finds everything he’d hoped for. Leave it to Anxiety to keep himself stocked with comfort food.

He forgoes the larger birds and hawks kept near the back and selects a plate of pinkie mice and a larger rat. The mice he deposits on the chair arm to the left of Virgil’s head so Charlotte will not have to climb far, and the rat he holds up in his right hand. With a half-stifled grunt he unhinges the left side of his jaw and lets the fangs of his snake-half descend. The rat passes his lips and with a few maneuvers of his tongue and throat Deceit manages to swallow.

“Mmm,” he hums in appreciation. “My compliments to the chef.” 

Charlotte beats her legs in agreement as she makes her own short work of the mice deposited for herself. Deceit reaches over, intent on collecting her emptied plate to return along with his own when there comes an insistent knock on Anxiety’s manifested door.

Charlotte and Deceit still. The knock graduates into a more aggressive pounding.

“Anxiety, I know you’re in there. Be grateful I didn’t just descend straight inside and come out and talk!”

Deceit frowns, scales itching as he recognizes the voice. 

“Anxiety?”

Charlotte makes a distressed sound and when Deceit turns his attention to her she makes a vague gesture with her legs from Virgil, to Deceit, to the door and the prince standing on the opposite end.

“This isn’t good.” Deceit eyes the spider legs strewn about the couch around Virgil and grimaces. Clearing his throat, he arranges his vocal chords and imagines a storm-cloud over his head.

“Go away, Roman,” he says in Virgil’s voice. Charlotte does her best to bob her head in approval.

“Virgil stop being a Negative Nancy and come out here. I have some things I need to say.”

Rolling his eyes, Deceit mimics a chattering mouth to Charlotte before responding back in the same tired, vocalizations as before. “Beat it. I’ll see you in the next video.”

“Anxiety open the door.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“What are you, my mom?” Starting to panic now, Deceit throws aside his hat in frustration and finds the first thing he can think of to cover Virgil up. Fetching a quilt from a nearby closet he collects Charlotte back onto his shoulder before draping the black-and-purple fabric over Virgil’s sprawled-out frame.

“One.”

“You’re _ actually counting_?” Deceit barely holds back his hiss and snaps both fingers, donning the visage of Anxiety, complete with hunched shoulders and deep eyeshadow. 

“Two.”

“Geez, I’m coming.” Suppressing the urge to strangle the Duke’s better half, Deceit swings open Virgil’s door, setting himself solidly in the door frame to keep the prince from gaining entry.

There, standing with his hand on the hilt of the ridiculous sword the man insists on carrying, is Creativity himself. Upon seeing Deceit, Roman lifts his hand from the weapon and smiles. “There you are, Virgil. Had me worried there for a second.”

“So nice to see you, Roman. I really appreciate the concern but, now’s not a good time.” His smile feels unfamiliar on Virgil’s face as Deceit steps back and makes to shut the door. And it falls just as quickly when the prince sticks his foot in the way. The serpent sees it coming and takes extra pleasure in slamming the door with as much strength as possible, snickering as Roman flinches.

“Look-eesh, you’re stronger than I thought,” says Roman, shouldering his way inside. Deceit tries to hold him back, but he cannot fight Creativity’s superior strength. Comes with the ego and self-aggrandizement unfortunately. At the very least he takes some comfort in the way the prince eases up on his right foot. “I just wanted to say,” Roman looks everywhere but at Virgil-Deceit. “I wanted to… apologize, for not noticing how distressed you were earlier today.”

“Really?” 

“Yes I-, I am capable of admitting when I make a mistake, alright?” If Deceit is not mistaken there is the slightest dusting of red on Creativity’s cheeks. Apologizing must not be a natural act for him.

“Patton sent you down here, didn’t he?”

Roman scoffs and his entire face bloats like a balloon in his attempt to muster up a plausible denial. Deceit arches one of Virgil’s eyebrows. “That’s what I thought.”

“Okay fine. But I still did it, so… brownie points to me.”

Deceit claps his hands a grand total of once. “Bravo. Can you go now?”

“Look, I just,” there are shadows beginning to creep beneath Roman’s eyes and Deceit doesn’t like the look of them. Light sides were not meant to be in the heart of Darkness just the same as those of the Dark weren’t meant to hang around the Light. “I wasn’t trying to be pushy back there. I really did want your input.”

Input? Unsure of how to respond, Deceit just nods, mute. 

Roman looks as if the cobwebs hanging from the corner of the room are incredibly intriguing and lifts a hand to fidget with the sash across his chest. “I was hoping together we could come up with some fantastic quest for us all to embark on with Thomas.” For a moment Roman’s eyes go wistful and Deceit grimaces.

“Let me guess, you want me to play the bad guy?” 

“What? No!” That brings Deceit up short. Roman rounds on the side he believes is Virgil and sets his hands on either of Deceit’s shoulders. They sit heavy and the serpent swallows a knot of apprehension. Thankfully however, the prince remains dense as ever. “Virgil the five of us. You, me, Thomas, Patton, and Logan. We’re a five man band.”

“O-kay?”

“That means we work together!”

“So I gathered.”

Roman grins. “And you will be my squire.”

“… Excuse me?” Deceit opens his mouth to let Creativity know exactly how he feels about the prince prescribing the spider with a role of subservience when someone behind him clears his throat. Charlotte leaps from Deceit’s shoulder and the serpent braces himself.

“Mind explaining what _the hell _ you two are doing in my room?”

Roman’s expression goes from earnestness, to confusion, and eventually settles on horrified understanding as his hands snap from Deceit as if he were holding hot coals. “You’re-”

“Deceit, yes. Glad you could put two and two together, Princey.” Virgil appears out of the corner of Deceit’s eye with Charlotte cupped in one of his hands, quilt draped over his shoulders and face clammy. The legs are gone, and Deceit frowns. No way Virgil had recovered enough to pull them back in. 

Game up, Deceit lets his disguise drop and leans his back against the wall, arms crossed. “Virgil, shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

Roman looks between the two dark sides with his hand back on his sword hilt. “Bed?”

Deceit turns his grin on the prince. “Yes, bed. Didn’t Virgil tell you when he left?”

“_Deceit._” The serpent is careful not to look away from Roman.

“He needed to come down here to recuperate. Being around so much carefree giddiness.” He plays up a shudder. “It’s rather sickening, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.” Virgil steps between the two and sets a hand on either of their chests. His glare though, he devotes to Deceit. The serpent feels a level of satisfaction at being prioritized over the prince. “Roman,” the spider turns to the light side. “Ignore him. It’s not that bad.”

“Is that so?” Deceit lifts a hand and sets it on the wrist Virgil has pressed against his sternum. He gives it a slight tug and watches with a grim sense of achievement as Virgil staggers. Deceit catches him with a hand to the shoulder. “I guess you’re just naturally uncoordinated then.”

Roman takes a step closer, pushing past Anxiety’s arm. “Virgil?”

“So, I need to sleep it off. Big deal.” The spider snatches his hand away from Deceit and turns to Roman. “You need to leave.”

Creativity scoffs. “Not while that- fiend, still resides here. Simply allow me, Virgil, and I shall expel him for you.” The sword slides free of its sheath and Deceit recoils, scales darkening over his skin.

The serpent hisses.

The spider _ hisses _right back.

“_Deceit, back off. Let me handle this.” _Letting Virgil spend any length of time with the moronic prince is the last thing Deceit wants, but by the way Anxiety’s eyes begin to darken into a purple haze, he decides to opt for strategic retreat. At least for the time being.

He raises both hands and turns his back on the pair, careful to maintain the scales coating his back and shoulders in case in Roman decides to take a stab at him anyway. “Fine,” he says. “Do what you want. I’ll just wait over there,” and makes his way back to the couch.

He hears Virgil call after him but ignores it. “By back off, I meant leave! Gah, whatever. I’ll deal with you later.” 

Roman’s voice follows soon after. “Anxiety, how often does he visit you here?”

“It’s not that often okay, he just likes to invite himself over sometimes.”

Someone stomps a foot. “That’s just… not okay, Virgil! He’s a Dark side!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who let Thomas keep him around the last time he decided to show up in the mind palace.”

“That was one time! Princes make mistakes too you know.” Roman’s voice has steadily started to climb and Deceit is certain that if he were to look over, he would see eyeshadow thick enough to rival Virgil's on the prince’s face.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Why are you being so mean! This is like the Disney discussion all over again. I came here trying to be nice!”

At some point, probably escaping the argument, Charlotte makes her way from Virgil back to the couch and settles on Deceit’s knee. The snake strokes her stunted body with a finger. Behind them, Anxiety sounds tense.

“You’re getting overtaken, Roman. Time for you to go.”

“And him?”

“Like you said, Deceit’s a dark side. He can handle my room better than you.” Well, at least he acknowledges it. Deceit’s smile is cavernous.

“I’m not leaving until he is.”

“Not an option. Thomas will start feeling the effects of this soon if you don’t go.”

“But-”

“_OUT! _” There is a sudden clatter, a sound of protest, and Anxiety’s door slams shut, leaving the room in a ringing silence but for the rasping of Virgil’s deep breaths. Slightly concerned, Deceit abandons the couch and Charlotte and rushes back over. Virgil has two legs manifested. One hanging limp at his side and the other propped against the door where he must have swung it shut. The side’s mouth is ajar, and when he sees Deceit, he lets the rest of the limbs free. He looks slightly horrified, but at what Deceit is unsure of. Careful not to touch, Deceit crouches down beside his fellow dark side.

“Did he see?” 

Virgil swallows and shakes his head. “Don’t- don’t think so. But it was close.”

“You’re going to need serious, uninterrupted rest if you want to appear in the mind palace again without letting the cat out of the bag.”

Virgil’s eyes snap to Deceit and narrow. “And give you the chance to impersonate me? Not likely.”

“Hey now,” Deceit gestures to the legs sprawled around them. “I only did that to keep Sir Dunce from walking in on you. I would never think of assuming your form otherwise, dear spider.”

Anxiety watches him a moment longer before sighing. “Whatever. Princey will tell the others I’m not feeling great and to stay away.” With a grunt of effort the spider hauls himself to his feet and starts making his way for the bedroom. “I really don’t have the energy to force you out, Deceit. So, if you’re sticking around make yourself useful and get me something from the fridge.” Virgil runs a hand through his hair and offers a limp wave over his shoulder. “I’m going to bed.”

Deceit preens at what is essentially permission for him to remain and dips into a sweeping bow. “At your service as always, Virgil.” His serpent eye gleams. Now, to see how long he can keep this game going.


	5. Chapter 5

Roman is unsure of how much time he spends staring at himself in the mirror after retreating back from Virgil’s room to lick his wounds. Staring at himself and, more specifically, the impressive bruise spanning from his left bicep, up and over the shoulder he’d clipped on Anxiety’s door frame as he’d been thrown out. He lifts a hand and brushes the purpled flesh, hissing as the tender skin protests. 

He hadn’t know Virgil could be that… impactful. 

Pushing aside thoughts of those last few seconds where his mission of conciliation had taken a turn for the more violent, the prince turns away from his reflection and conjures his jacket, hiding all evidence of injury. He’ll make a second attempt at an apology next time, no need to dwell. 

That being said, perhaps it was time he sharpen his blade on the scuttling nightmares hiding in the scattered shadows of his realm. After all, if _ Anxiety _of all sides could get the jump on him, he must be in dire need of practice. The prince could hardly be the bravest of them all if he couldn’t even protect himself. And then of course there was always Remus with his insufferable morning star.

Roman shudders and collects his weapon of choice from its stand beside his bed. Perhaps he’d even get lucky and come across Deceit wandering where he shouldn’t be. He was almost certain impaling that snake would make him feel much better.

“Did somebody say, impale?” A voice like dripping oil, interrupts the otherwise calming ambiance of the room.

Roman groans. “Remus, I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking-hey wait. Hold the phone, why am I in a mirror!”

Shoulders held high, the prince turns back to his standing mirror and brushes imagined lint from his epaulets. “Like it? Came up with the idea myself.” He grins as his mustachioed twin slams his fist against the transparent plane he is trapped behind, achieving nothing but an impotent _ thunk. _ “A nice little tank for a nuisance like you.” 

Dark Creativity snarls, spitting something green and viscous onto his side of the mirror’s surface. “You can’t keep me out, Roman. This is my room too.”

“That,” says Roman, gesturing to Remus. “Is an exaggeration. Now begone back to your swamp foul beast, I have more important demons to slay.”

“Oh?” Remus’ voice turns silky. “Like whatever did _ that _to your shoulder?” When Roman turns a suspicious frown back on the mirror Remus giggles, eyes alight in mischief. “You should really close your windows when you change. Anyone could be watching.”

The prince shrugs, making a show of rotating his left shoulder despite the ache. “It’s nothing.”

“Poopy.” Remus runs a hand through his hair. “The brave, courageous Prince Roman injured over nothing? Come on, you can tell me… who did it?”

“Why for the love of _ Fantasia _would I tell you?”

Remus sniffs. “Well if you don’t, I’ll just assume it was Patton,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

For the record, the prince knows he’s being baited. “...Virgil.”

“_Virgil_?” Remus tosses his head back and laughs. “That old has been? Oh Princey, you must have really let yourself go.”

Roman’s hand goes to his sword. “I’ll thank you not to besmirch the name of one of my boon companions, brother.” In retaliation, Remus pulls his morning star from whatever dark pocket he has stashed it in and strikes at the mirror. To Roman’s satisfaction, the barrier holds.

Pouting, the Duke tosses his weapon aside. “Well I’ll be a unicorn’s soggy left testicle, that old serpent really was telling the truth.”

“You mean Deceit?”

Remus shrugs. “Who else? Of course, he told me about your little tiff with the old bean, we Dark sides don’t keep secrets from one another.” He plucks a grey whisker from his mustache. “Deceit's been harder than a flatworm’s codpiece from the moment the old sad sack started talking to him again.”

Shaking his head to get that image out of his mind Roman takes a step back from the mirror. “You know what, I don’t care what you or Deceit thinks. This,” he gestures to his injured shoulder. “Was just an accident. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Somewhere above, Roman can hear a chorus of trumpets sound. Thomas is calling for him. “Looks like playtime’s over, Remus. Feel free to be gone by the time I get back.”

“In your dreams, Romano.”

Roman ascends to the mind palace. Settling in his corner of Thomas Sanders’ living room to join Logan and Patton who have already taken their places along with Thomas. Virgil, is nowhere to be seen.

“Wonderful,” says Logic. “Now Roman’s here. This should help us consider all aspects of the issue.”

Roman coughs and looks between his host and the two other sides. “What issue?”

“Sorry for the short notice, Roman,” says Thomas.

“Well,” Patton shrugs. “We were talking about Anxiety.”

“Virgil?”

“Yes.” Logan gestures to the empty space near the apartment stairs where Anxiety would normally reside. “Thomas revealed to us just now, that Virgil admitted to having once been a Dark side. And that he has found the admission to be quite troubling.” He did? Roman frowns at the thought, not sure if he likes just how much the dark sides have started pushing their way into the fore. 

“Well okay then, we all knew that. So, why isn’t our morose Eeyore here to explain himself?”

“Um, about that.” Thomas isn’t making eye contact with him. 

Logan fixes the cuff of his dress shirt. “Thomas is afraid to talk to him about it.”

Roman's head snaps to Thomas who makes a helpless gesture with his arms. “I- am… not.” Thomas’ laugh sounds painful. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Afraid? Thomas that is absurd.” Roman stuffs aside his own apprehension and grasps for the intangible, bolstering strength that is his aspect to provide. “As your courage I am telling you, all you have to fear, is fear itself.”

Thomas claps his hands. “See, well. That’s kind of the point.”

“Indeed.” Logan sighs. “Roman, Virgil does embody a great deal of Thomas’ fear.”

“Okay, poor choice of words.”

“Now kids,” Patton frowns, setting his hands on his hips. “I really don’t think we should go on talking about Virgil while he’s not here.”

Thomas looks properly chastised, but when Roman turns to Logic, the teacher is as ever, unscathed. “On the contrary. I am almost certain that this issue is causing more than a fair share of anxiety for Thomas.” He looks to their host who nods back, emphatic. “Ergo, by all rights Anxiety should have appeared by now. The fact that he hasn’t suggests that he has no intention to, and we have every right to continue the discussion without his direct input.”

Patton’s face screws up in doubt. “Eh, that seems like a stretch. Besides, like I said talking about someone behind their back is still wrong.” He lifts his hands in a shrug. “Maybe he’s just busy?”

“Unlikely.”

“Well, Roman.” Patton looks to Creativity. “You went down to see him last night. How was he then?”

“Um,” his mind fills with Deceit wearing Virgil’s skin. Sitting comfortably and without consequence in Anxiety’s room. “Taking a sick day.”

“Sick day?” Thomas’ eyes draw together in concern.

“We might have spent more time than was healthy for him in Morality’s room yesterday,” admits Logan, taking his glasses off to clean their lenses.

“Oh, he still wasn’t feeling well?” asks Patton.

Roman sets his teeth on edge. “Not the best, I’m afraid. It might be best to leave him be for now, until he’s ready to come out on his own.”

Patton nods his head fast enough to dislodge his glasses. “Of course, he can take all the time he needs.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should bring him up here so we can all check on him. In case he needs help getting out of his funk.” Thomas looks between the sides, unsure.

Logic shrugs. “Do what you think is best, Thomas.”

Before Roman can come up with a convincing enough excuse beside the pit in his stomach,Thomas clears his throat. “Okay, then.” He rubs his hands together and shakes himself out. “Let’s get this over with. Anxiety!”

There is a brief moment when the beckoning call of tension and hair-raising dissonance goes unanswered and Roman believes for a moment that Virgil will not appear. Then, because none of them can ever truly deny Thomas anything, reality catches up.

Anxiety appears out of the ether with a hand to his brow, facing away from the rest of them. “You know,” the dark persona says. “For someone dedicated to the propagation of lies, you seem to have an awful hard time _ keeping your mouth shut!_”

It is at this point that their fourth aspect seems to realize he has been summoned from the depths of his room, and Roman watches as their shadowy counterpart’s shoulders tense. Virgil turns to face them, expression stark and exposed.

“Um,” Thomas is the first to try and break the heavy silence that follows in its wake. “Were we… interrupting something?”

“Ah, no?” Anxiety tries.

Logan blinks hard behind his glasses and cocks his head. “You were speaking with someone." Roman can see their logical side running through possibilities in his head even though he himself already knows the answer. Logan comes to a conclusion and recoils. "Deceit?” In response to which Anxiety rounds on Logic with a glare.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“Now, kiddo. You know how we feel about him.” As Patton wags his finger in Virgil’s direction Roman cringes on their morality’s behalf. Their paternal aspect lacks the instinct to notice the hackles rising in Anxiety.

“Excuse me?”

Patton goes on without pause. “He’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t be hanging around sides like him.”

“Oh that’s rich.” Virgil waves his hand towards the rest of them. “You guys, warning me about Deceit. I literally spent the entire courtroom video begging you all not to listen to him.” He ends his tirade with a lingering glower in Patton’s direction, who cringes back with his hands wringing against his chest.

“Ok, that’s fair,” says Thomas, nodding.

“Yes, but-”

“No buts.” Anxiety makes an abortive gesture. “Now if you’d excuse me.” Virgil begins to sink. About to panic, Roman opens his mouth to speak, but is saved from doing so by Logan who acts first.

“You’re going back? Why?” Logan steeples his fingers.

Virgil’s eyebrow twitches. “We have unfinished business.”

Roman remembers Deceit's triumphant smirk and his jaw ticks. “Dark side business?” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Thomas flinch. Most likely, it was on Virgil’s behalf but Roman doesn’t like the look of it. And he still doesn’t know how he feels about Anxiety admitting to Thomas what he used to be. Emphasis on 'used to'.

Virgil’s focus narrows on Roman, and the prince straightens his spine in retaliation. He will not be intimidated by a Vitamin D-deprived goth with poor make up application skills. 

“You implying something, Princey?”

Creativity turns his nose up at his opposing side. “I’m only suggesting that perhaps you spend a little less time cavorting with the likes of Deceit and a little more helping us be here for Thomas.”

“Cavorting?” Anxiety balks and shakes his head. “And when am I not here for Thomas?”

Logan clicks his tongue. “Well, there was that one time you tried to quit.”

“Yeah, please don’t ever do that again, buddy,” says Thomas, cringing.

Virgil groans. “That was different! I thought I was doing what was best for Thomas.”

As if neither Thomas nor Virgil had spoken at all, Logan continues unhindered. “And technically speaking, you were not here at the beginning of this video either, despite Thomas’ desire for you input. Beyond that, we were forced to summon you rather than appearing of your own volition.”

“Okay, I get it!” Virgil backs himself against the wall and Roman is reminded of the danger of cornered animals.

“So,” Patton jumps in, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Maybe we can all just agree that Deceit is not a good influence on _ any _of us, and promise to keep him at arm’s length?” 

“Acceptable.”

“Done.” Roman nods. He'd rather end this distressing line of discussion and go back to their original purpose of determining the state of Virgil's well-being. But then, when does Roman ever get what he wants?

“This is stupid.” Virgil deliberately looks away as Patton gasps. “This entire conversation is stupid.”

“Hey now,” Thomas frowns in Anxiety’s direction. “Let’s not be mean.”

“No, you know what? I’m not sugar-coating this.” Virgil’s glare oscillates between the rest of them. “You guys, have no idea how to handle something like Deceit. I do.”

Logan coughs into his fist. “So, we’re just going to ignore your complete inability to contribute a measured response to _ the Duke_, then?”

Virgil hisses, sending the other sides jerking back in surprise. “_Did I ask for your opinion?_ No.” He turns to the rest of them. “So, how about you guys not tell me how to do my job and I won’t tell you how to do yours. _Hm_?”

Roman cannot help himself and breaks out into nervous laughter. The other sides and Thomas all jump at the sudden exclamation, but it at least gets them to shut up. He pretends he can’t hear the note of distressed tension in his own hysterics. “Ah,” he sighs. “It’s hilarious, you trying to be this paragon of anti-hero edginess, Virgil. You think you’re capable of handling Deceit better than the rest of us because you’re Dark but you’re not, not anymore.” As the words come out, Roman’s smile becomes brittle. “You’re as vulnerable as the rest of us.” He hopes so, at least.

Logan, Patton, and Thomas all shift their gaze from Roman to Virgil, Morality biting his nails while Logan has his arms crossed in tense intrigue. Thomas himself simply looks distressed and Roman tries to put on his best posture of confidence to bolster his host’s courage.

Anxiety looks across Thomas’ living room to Creativity with an expression Roman cannot read. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Roman flinches, but before he can recover Virgil goes on. “You’re so incapable of handling the Dark, Roman, that Thomas had to split you in two parts just to rationalize your existence. So, don’t pretend you have any say in what goes on between me and Deceit.”

The mindscape goes silent as Roman reels. That’s not true. That’s not why-

“I’m done with this. You guys can finish this video without me.” Virgil's eyes go dark. "I have better things to do."

Thomas reaches out in protest. “Hey Anxiety, wait-” but Virgil is already sinking away and this time, he doesn’t stop for any of them. Roman stares at the empty staircase feeling oddly adrift. Somewhere distant, he can feel Remus’ oily presence seeping back into his room.

“I-I need to go too,” he says.

Patton looks aghast. “Roman!” he protests. “We shouldn’t end this video angry at each other.”

“Wait,” Logan blinks. “Is this another two parter? Thomas, this is hardly a satisfactory conclusion, nothing was settled.”

Thomas flounders. “Uh, sorry Logan. Doesn’t seem like I’m getting much of a choice right now.”

Roman does feel the fluttering tilt-a-whirl of guilt in his stomach as Patton turns a morose expression on him, but he doesn’t want the others to see the shuddering discomfort welling up inside him. So, he brushes it aside and offers the others his most charming smile.

“Fear not, dear friends. All is well.” He takes Logan’s eyeroll to mean he is nailing the bit. “Let Virgil have his sulk. I, the prince, have other important business to attend to.”

This gets Logic and Morality debating the validity of his claim and Roman takes the opportunity to sink out. He follows the hypnotic lure of imagination to its source and when he blinks, he finds himself once more in the warm, comforting haven of his aspect.

Comforting that is, except for the floor-length mirror that is once again offering Dark Creativity a window into his room. The Duke is lounging against the gilded frame, stroking the exposed stuffing of the front half of a unicorn plushie. Roman patently doesn’t think about where the rear half has gone.

“I take it your little team huddle didn’t go as well as you’d hoped?”

Roman rolls his eyes and snaps away the ink-like sludge dripping onto the carpeting of his room. “None of your business, Remus. Once again, you can go.”

“Well,” Remus leans forward toward the plane of the mirror, tapping on its invisible edge. “Maybe I don’t want to. It’s not like you or anyone can make me.” The tapping turns to scratching and suddenly the screeching caterwaul of tearing metal is stabbing into Creativity’s ears. He clamps his hands over them and shuts his eyes.

“Cut it out, Dukey!”

“Come come dear brother, hit me with your best shot!”

Sorely tempted, Roman snatches up the nearest projectile he can find, a golden apple he may or may not have requisitioned from Patton's room, and pulls back his arm to throw. Before he can however, the noise suddenly ceases.

Cautious, the prince peaks his eyes open to see his darker half staring at something out of view from the mirror. The already grime-ridden dark side is panting and pouring sweat profusely from his brow. “Oh,” Remus whispers in an exhale.

Roman is about to turn away and ignore the other side until he decides to find anything better to do, when the Duke is all at once torn from sight. Creativity catches a flash of something pale and long sweeping across Remus’s side of the mirror, catching the dark side under the arms. "Wait, wait, wait!" Dark Creativity flails, reaching out for purchase, but his hands meet nothing as he is unceremoniously flung from view and into the empty void of Dark.

Unsure of what he has just witnessed, Roman stares at the empty mirror until it is only his own reflection staring back. 


	6. Chapter 6

Deceit's expression dips into a frown the moment he realizes Virgil will be whisked from the relative comfort of his room by the immutable call of their host. He hears the whispers of fear and doubt as they linger in the air and can see the way his fellow dark side shudders, trying to push them away.

“Ugh- not right now, Thomas.” Pressing a hand to his temple, the spider glares from his nest of blankets and quilts to Deceit. Somewhat recovered, his legs are retracted, leaving enough room for him to lean against the wall. “We’re not done here,” he says, glare piercing over his dark eye shadow. Virgil’s skin is like paper, and the curtain of his purple-toned hair makes it difficult for Deceit to look him in the eyes.

The serpent cannot help a small smile, despite the irritation it causes the other side. It has only been a few hours and the spider has not looked so healthy in some time.

“What are you grinning about?” The gleam of suspicion in Virgil’s side-eye makes Deceit giggle.

“Nothing, don’t mind me.” The whispers intensify, and Anxiety has to anchor one of his hands in his comforter to keep from blinking away to the mindscape. Taking a calculated risk, Deceit leans forward and takes the hand in his, grounding him. He can feel the cool touch of the spider’s skin even through his gloves. “You still need to rest.”

Virgil breathes out a slow exhale and tugs his hand away. “I’m fine.”

Deceit wags a finger, tutting. “Liar, liar.”

“Shut up. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you.” 

The serpent scoffs. “Well, I hardly think that’s fair. Who was it who _ willingly _ spent an extended period of time in the stronghold of Thomas’ _ Morality_?” He pretends to pick at a spot of grime on the walls. “All I’ve done here is offer my services to aid you.” 

Virgil rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I’m talking about your stunt with the Duke.” The spider’s lip curls at the thought and Deceit catches a glimpse of gleaming fangs. It makes his mouth water and he bears his own needle-like set in return. 

“It was all in good fun.”

“You set that rabid fish on Thomas! He nearly outed me-ngh…” Anxiety’s room blurs for a moment, but Virgil manages to push through another surge of Thomas’ summons to stay present with Deceit.

The serpent gives the spider a considering look, waiting for the veritable siren-call to fade before speaking. “An octopus isn’t a fish, Virgil. It’s a mollusk.” 

“Like I give a damn what the mutated worm is called.” He sends Deceit his best unimpressed mien. The expression makes Virgil look very much like Logan and Deceit has to stifle a chuckle. Virgil ignores it. “And I would have thought you’d be more concerned about the idiot blabbing. Why didn’t you shut him up?”

Deceit shrugs. “Nothing came of it. The others already know you’re a Dark side, so what does it matter if Thomas does too?”

“The whole point of me _ being here _was to get Thomas to trust me! How am I supposed to do that if he thinks I’m one of the bad guys?”

Deceit scoffs, gets to his feet, and goes over to stand at the edge of the bed, staring down his nose at Virgil. The spider glares back up at him. Serpent eye glowing, Deceit says, “Then we find another way. I might be your secret keeper Virgil,” he takes the spider’s chin in one hand. “But I won’t stay silent while you forget what you are. I won’t watch you destroy yourself.”

Virgil’s eyes go purple. “_Hands. Off._”

Deceit snatches his hand back in an instant. “All I’m suggesting,” he says with his palms raised in placation. “Is that we hide our little deception under a veil of truth.”

“Oh,” says Virgil, sneering. “And you’re the best judge of what should and shouldn’t be revealed to Thomas?”

“_Naturally._” 

The spider shakes his head. “No,” he says. “This ends now. Either rein Remus in, _ or I will_.”

A sigh. “Very well.” Deceit tips his hat. “Although I’m not sure how effective I can be. The Duke has always been swayed more by action than by words.”

“Figure it out.”

“I can only promise,” says Deceit, forked tongue dancing in the air between them. “To try.”

Virgil scoffs before dropping his head into his hand. He opens his mouth as if to speak when suddenly the echoing whispers grow into a frenzy and, all at once, Virgil blinks from existence. Deceit tastes the air with his tongue, tracing the scent of fear and apprehension to the mindscape. 

Thomas is there, with the other Light sides. Testing the waters of his aspect, Deceit can feel their host searching for a more convenient truth. Under normal circumstances, the serpent would jump at the opportunity to encourage Thomas to indulge in his self-delusion, but in this instance he stays put, going so far as to leave Virgil’s realm and return to his own.

In this specific scenario, whatever inconvenient truths are uttered between the four most trusted sides of Thomas Sanders will only help his cause.

The serpent releases a contented breath as he returns once more to his realm of shifting sand. The arid heat of his conjured desert does wonders for his scales as he settles himself into his seat of power. He closes his eyes, soaking up the passing fabrications drifting in Thomas Sanders’ subconscious. It is only when the dripping, oily presence of Dark Creativity edges on the fringes of his realm that Deceit opens his eyes.

“Come on out, Remus. You’re hardly subtle.” A writhing tentacle edges around the arm of Deceit’s stone throne, squelching as it flops into the serpent’s lap. Deceit rolls his eyes and slaps the twisting appendage away. “As fun as that might be, I’d guess we only have a short time before Virgil loses patience with his little friendsssss. So, let’s not waste it, hm?”

The Duke whines and slinks out of the shadows. “You never let me have any fun.”

Deceit props his chin in the heel of his hand and arches his human eyebrow in the octopus’ direction. “That aside, how’d your visit with the prince go?”

“Princey? You should have seen him,” the Duke slaps his hands on his thighs. “The bite Virgil took out of him-ah! The poor thing, so confused.” Remus sets his hands on either of the arms of Deceit’s throne and leans forward. “And when I told him about you and Virgil-_ oh _the heartbreak, the drama!”

Deceit’s tongue slips out and his human eye twitches. “You told him what?”

“About your little, spider problem,” Remus snickers and drifts one of his hands towards Deceit’s waste. The serpent frowns and, planting a foot on the Duke’s sternum, kicks the dark side away. 

“Hands to yourself, Dukey. My body is a temple.” His eyelids flutter and Deceit sighs. “And I dedicate it to only one deity.”

Remus sticks his tongue out from where he sprawled in a heap of sand and sits up. “Prude.” Like the childish nitwit that he is, Dark Creativity forgets his disappointment a moment later and slinks forward yet again. “So, what comes next? Impersonating Morality again?”

“Nothing so redundant.”

“You declaring your undying devotion to the spider and challenging Princey to a duel to win his favor,” Remus tries again.

Deceit sighs. “Not quite.”

“We… send Thomas to a psych ward?”

“Getting colder, my friend.”

“We kidnap little Virgil, photograph him naked in an abandoned warehouse and leave him tied up for the rats?”

The look Deceit sends his fellow dark side is deadpan. “No.”

“Well then what’s the point!”

“We’ve done enough direct damage for now,” says Deceit, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just wait for our dear spider to come to us.” Remus looks ready to protest when Deceit cuts him off. “And if you’re bored… I suggest focusing on taking it out on Roman. There’s no harm in driving wedges where we can.”

“Ugh, _ fine._” Remus flicks the edge of his mustache and turns away. “I’ll go see if I can’t get brother dearest to take down that annoying barrier he erected. Aha! Get it, erect?”

The upward curling of Deceit’s lips would probably be better defined as a sneer than a smile. “Ssssso clever,” he says, punctuating Dark Creativity’s departure with a hiss. He cannot wait for the spider to make its return so he can spend his time in better company. He sits back and waits.

The dominoes are in place, and it doesn’t take long for them to be toppled over.

The Duke’s return to the serpent’s domain is accompanied by Remus’ screeching wail and the heavy thud of Virgil’s landing. Remus is sweating black sludge and his eyes are mad with panic as he scrabbles at the loose sand of Deceit’s realm to get away. Part way through the side loses control of his form, left arm going limp as it transforms into a squirming tentacle. 

Deceit watches the pathetic display from his throne, chin propped on his fist.

Virgil makes the more impressive figure. He has two legs manifested as he stalks forward, the shadows under his eyes dark like pitch and eyes aglow in purple fury. One pale limb strikes out, pinning the Duke through his puffed clothing and drags him back. The spider is hissing and its other limb extends towards Deceit, accusing without Virgil ever looking away from his whimpering target.

“_I thought I told you to control him._”

Deceit shrugs. “I think you’ll find I said I would try.” He nods in Remus's direction. "Clearly, I failed."

The spider limb shoots forward, driving itself a good inch into the stone of Deceit’s throne a hair’s breadth from his eye. The serpent’s adrenaline spikes.

“_Don’t play games with me, Deceit._”

“Very well, my apologies.” Deceit gets to his feet and makes a slow approach to his fellow dark sides. He is careful to appear non-threatening as he nears the spider’s suspicious eyes. He steps within the range of both limbs and into Virgil’s space. The spider angles its head to listen as the serpent speaks into his ear. “But I think you’ve made your point.” He sends a glance down to where Remus looks fit to lose the contents of his bladder.

Virgil snarls but retracts his limbs, freeing Remus from his hold, and his eyes return to Thomas Sanders’ natural shade of brown. The Dark sides make a collective sigh, and Deceit takes hold of Virgil’s arm when the spider staggers.

“Careful.”

Anxiety pulls away. “I’m fine.” Then, without meeting Deceit’s knowing look he glares around the serpent’s shoulder to the pathetic mess on the ground. “And as for you,” he shoves Deceit out of the way and takes Dark Creativity by the green sash. “Go anywhere near Thomas or the Light sides again, and I’ll throw you so far into a pit of repression you won’t remember your own name.”

The octopus blubbers and throws himself into convulsive nods before Virgil has enough and lets him go. Remus sinks away a second later, leaving a patch of sticky, wet sand Deceit does not look forward to expunging from his realm. But that inevitability will come later, for the time being he focuses on Virgil, who is looking slightly shell-shocked. 

There is a sheen of sweat across the side’s brow. He can see the way Virgil’s limbs shake as if from great exertion and frowns. “As an impressive display as that was, it took a lot out of you,” he says, conjuring a yellow handkerchief for Virgil to wipe the remnants of Remus’ filth from his hands.

“Well, it wasn’t like you were being much help.” Virgil takes the offering and wanders over to the dais at the center of Deceit’s realm, taking a seat on one of the stone steps. Deceit’s tongue slips free to taste the air between them, and his serpent jaw cracks open in a wide grin at the heat of discomfort tainting the atmosphere. He watches Virgil make himself comfortable for a solid minute before speaking.

“Why are you here, Virgil?”

The spider glares through the curtain of his hair. “Did you forget already? To make a point, moron.”

Deceit rolls his eyes. “The point has been made. I mean, why are you _ still _ here?” He moves to sit a respectable distance from the other side. “You never stick around when you don’t have to. And yet, here you are.”

A dusting of red colors Anxiety’s otherwise pale cheeks and the Dark side looks away. “No reason. I just…” he doesn’t finish the thought.

Deceit considers. “Did something happen?” he asks, readjusting the set of his gloves to give Virgil the illusion that he is not paying too close attention. “When Thomas pulled you up there?” he makes a vague gesture upwards toward the mindscape. 

Virgil props his elbows on his knees and lets his head drop. “I wouldn’t tell you if it did.” It is as close to an admission as Deceit would ever expect from the spider, and he eyes the yellow cloth still bunched in Virgil’s fist.

“Well, no rush. You know I’ll always lend an ear.” Weighing the risk, Deceit lifts his hand and sets it on Virgil’s closest shoulder. The spider stiffens, but when he is not immediately shrugged off he lets the touch linger. He can feel Virgil begin his breathing exercises. 

When Anxiety makes it to his third exhale, Deceit is almost surprised to hear him speak. Quiet, so much so that Deceit has to lean in close to hear it. “I wanted…” says Virgil, hands shaking. “I needed to know I was right. And they were wrong.”

About what, Deceit would like to ask, but he refrains. He braves the silence another minute before the spider continues. 

“I am a Dark side,” he says. “I know the Dark parts of Thomas better than the rest of them.” Virgil picks his head and looks Deceit in the eyes, both human and serpent. “I know you.”

Something in Deceit turns over. The look in Virgil’s eyes is familiar, gleaming in a way he cannot place. But then, he knows that perceptions are seldom what they seem. He won’t jump to conclusions.

But… if he knows Virgil, if he knows the spider… he might just dare to dream.

He holds Virgil’s eye contact until the side looks away, blinking out of view. The spider’s presence fades, leaving Deceit alone in his realm. The taste in the air is bitter, but the swelling disappointment in his chest ebbs when he sees that Virgil has taken his little gift with him. 

The serpent sighs. “And I know you.” He whispers the spider’s true name into the air, letting the desert winds carry Deceit’s most closely guarded secret into oblivion.


	7. Chapter 7

“Roman, I must reiterate. My day planner is incredibly full at the moment and Thomas has a number of deadlines coming up. If you’ve called me here just to fact-check another fan fiction-”

“Ssssh!”

Logan blinks as a stray droplet of spittle flies from Creativity’s lips to land on one of the lenses of his glasses. He pulls them free and wipes them clean with a slow-release exhale. “Was that really necessary?”

Roman begins a wild sequence of gesticulations before bringing a finger back up to his lips. “Would you just- _ shush_!”

“Who are you worried would overhear us?” As Roman pulls Logan by the arm, Logic becomes aware of their host’s mind drifting and quickly redirects him with a sharp twist of will. Logan frowns when instead of returning to their laptop’s keyboard, the fingers of Thomas’ left hand continue their senseless tapping. He pulls his own arm free, forcing Roman to halt their progress half-way down Creativity’s grand hall of Disney. They pause between a poster of Merida from _ Brave _and an oil-painting of Belle and the Beast. “And would you stop distracting Thomas!”

“I’m sorry, _ Logic._ I thought you’d be interested in being made aware of a possible crisis!” 

Logan crosses his arms. “Well, of course I would be. I just fail to see how such a thing would warrant secrecy to this degree.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman turns on his heel -huffing quite childishly, if someone were to ask Logan’s opinion- and trusts his fellow side to follow. “You never know,” he says. The prince casts a look about them. “The walls have ears.”

“No they don’t.” Logan trots after the prince, begrudgingly admiring the harmony of so many styles of artistry displayed along the two walls leading to Roman’s room. “They’re cinder block and plaster.”

Roman’s forehead meets his palm. “That’s not- forget it. Just follow me.” He pulls open the ornate double doors leading to their fanciful side’s more grandiose version of Thomas’ living room. He holds the door open long enough for Logan to pass through and shuts it swiftly after. “I don’t want the others to know about this. Especially not Patton.”

“Oh?” Logan’s eyebrow arches as he watches the prince pace, thumbnail trapped between his teeth. “If the situation is as dire as you claim, is secret-keeping really a complication you want to introduce to the scenario?”

“I-I get what you’re saying,” says Roman, lifting both palms without halting his stride. “But that’s why I brought you in. I need you to tell me, if this is as bad as I think it is.”

The corner of Logan’s lips tip down and he fixes the set of his glasses. He casts a look at Roman from head to toe. “Your pulse is elevated and your breathing is inefficient. You’re genuinely unsettled.” 

“Obviously.” 

Adjusting his tie, Logan clears his throat. “Very well. Explain the problem.”

Roman cringes. “Actually… it’s better if I show you.” Wiping the sweat from his brow, the prince puts a hand on the hilt of his anachronistic weapon of choice and moves toward the far corner of the room. Roman pushes aside the hand-carved dressing screen collecting dust in the underlit recess of Creativity’s sanctuary. "You see?" Roman gestures to a shadow that slowly begins to take shape. As he does so, the smallest hairs on the nape of Logic’s neck begin to rise.

“Roman, step away from it.”

He doesn’t. Lifting a hand in Logan’s direction, the prince instead begins to circle the object. “It hasn’t moved. I don’t think it-”

“Step away from it NOW!” This time, to Logan’s relief, he listens and retreats to Logic’s side. Together, they observe the monolithic structure. Logan leans forward, but steps no closer. “When did this first appear?”

Roman pushes the hair from his face and shrugs. “I don’t know. I only noticed it yesterday.” He draws his eyebrows together. “After something took Remus.”

“Something _ took _him? What do you mean something took the Duke?”

Creativity throws his hands into the air. “I don’t know! He was trying to break in here and then all of a sudden some… _ thing _appeared and dragged him away!” Creativity gestures to the empty floor-length mirror in the room and then back to the object in question. “But after that, I noticed this in my room.”

Beginning his own pacing, Logan brings a hand up to his chin. “You’re right. This is indeed disconcerting.” He snaps his fingers. “And you might have had a point. Patton can’t know about this.”

Roman nods, resolute. “Or Virgil.”

That halts Logan in his tracks. “Virgil? Don’t you think his input in this case would be rather insightful?”

“NO!”

Logan rocks his head back at Roman’s vehement shout. “... care to explain, why?”

“I just…” Roman scratches at the back of his head. “You know how our grumpy kitten can be about these things.” He makes a vague gesture to the corner. “He just admitted to being a Dark side to Thomas too. If we go interrogate him for answers so soon after, he could think we’re accusing him of something.”

Logan frowns. “But we’re not. We’re simply putting forward a question in the pursuit of knowledge.” 

“Yes, I know that.” Roman raps his knuckles against his brow. “But he already stormed out of the last video because he was angry at us, I’m just trying not to make it worse.”

“I can appreciate that, Roman. But that hardly takes precedence.” Logan sighs. “Like you said, Virgil is a Dark side. He might know how this got here.”

“Look, can’t we just handle this ourselves? If we put too much more stress on Virgil, the effects might start to spread to Thomas.” Roman takes Logan by the shoulders and shakes him. Logic grimaces as his glasses are nearly thrown from his face. “Please?”

“Very well. If you insist.” Logan brushes the hands from his person and smooths his hair out. “I suppose there’s no need to cause undue alarm. Let me do some research.” He turns and makes for the door. “You keep an eye on that. And don’t let it _ anywhere _near Thomas.”

“Right.” 

Before shutting the door, Logan casts one last look over his shoulder to the arching spider leg mired in ragged webbing in the corner. 

He marches back down the hall, thoughts streaming almost too fast for him to process. The most immediate, a deep unease that something so obvious and antithetical to Thomas’ common stream of consciousness could go unnoticed by Roman for who knows how long. And given the fact that the limb seemed crafted into the very walls of Roman’s realm, it suggested a presence far outlasting recent memory. There was also the unnerving consideration of the magnitude and dimension of a creature that could possess a singular limb of that size. Very disconcerting indeed.

Logan shudders at the thought of Patton’s reaction should he ever come across something similar.

Logic does not stop his trek until he is back in his own haven of knowledge and wisdom. Ignoring the complex array of monitors near his work desk and the subsequent arrangement of projects midway through completion, he instead makes for the wall-encompassing bookshelves filled floor to ceiling with journals. He goes to the topmost volume and pulls it free.

Setting aside his disapproval for the poor-penmanship and use of crayon, Logan parcels through the backwards ‘e’s and begins to read. _ The Complete and Accurate Recitation of the Life of Thomas Sanders Volume 1. _He begins with day one.

The first several rows of journals are relatively uneventful, detailing little of relevant interest other than perhaps the first appearance of Imagination and Logic. He skims through adolescence and the birth of Morality, and only sits down in his thinking chair and puts on his cognitive cap when he reaches late stage adolescence burgeoning on the teenage years. There he finds the first recorded appearance of a Dark side.

Logan sends Thomas to an early and restful sleep, and devotes all subconscious efforts under his purview to the dissection of the years to follow. The conception of lies, fear, doubt, anger, bitterness, so many shadowy figures, many of which disappeared as the sides began to take proper shape. He lingers for a moment on an entry devoted to the split of Remus from Roman.

The entry sparks a thought. Logic jumps to his feet, snapping the volume closed and depositing it back in its proper place before scanning the shelves a few rows over, towards the newer entries. He skims the books, and pulls out a neatly printed dictation.

He flips through to the half-remembered conversation and finds the desired quotation.

‘Virgil (Anxiety): How would I be a Hufflepuff?

Patton (Morality): _You_ are hard-working.

Roman (Creativity): Working hard to make Thomas-’

Logan’s focus is broken by a series of increasingly insistent knocks on his room door. He means to ignore whoever it is until they go away, but in looking up he notices something else even more distressing. A shadow in the corner of his room tucked behind his newly-installed Google nap pod that looks suspiciously similar to the spider limb Roman had pointed out in his own room. Something inside Logic goes cold. How had he not noticed such an unwelcome object in his own corner of Thomas’ mindscape?

The knock returns with even more force and Logan drops the journal in his hand. 

“Hey, Logan. You mind if I hang out here for a bit?”

Legs almost moving on their own, Logic strides over to the door and opens it to find Anxiety. “Virgil, can I help you with something?” He turns the angle of his shoulders to block the strange limb from Anxiety's line of sight.

Virgil has his hood tucked over his hair and his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, looking anywhere but at Logan until he seems to forcibly redirect himself and focus. “Sorry to barge in, I just,” he shrugs and Logan is somewhat surprised to see that he is wearing his patchwork tie. “After what’s been happening the last couple days, I needed somewhere to block everything out. You mind if I-” he nods towards the collection of Tim Burton-themed bean bags Virgil has somehow managed to accumulate in Logan’s room.

Under normal circumstances the request would be a simple one to acquiesce to, Virgil is hardly the most intrusive of his occasional visitors, but in this instance Logan hesitates. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now, Anxiety.” 

Virgil visibly flinches and Logan wonders if perhaps this would be an example of one of those times Patton tells him he should use more tact. But then, the worry-prone persona digs deeper into his pockets and pulls out something he all but shoves in Logan’s hands.

“I brought Crofters,” Virgil offers.

Logan throws caution to the wind. “Make yourself at home.”

That does make Virgil smile, and Logan puts an honest effort into lifting a fist to set against the one Anxiety offers to him. “You’re the best, Teach.” Virgil sidles past the logical persona and ambles his way towards his usual corner, casting a look around. 

“Your wireless headphones are plugged in near the outlet. I took the liberty of downloading a few more audiobooks as well as several autonomous sensory meridian response compilations.” Virgil turns back around to look at him, eyes wide. “There’s also a two-hour guided meditation podcast I found for you if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, man.” Virgil collects his headphones and does indeed select Logan’s podcast before curling up inside a cocoon bean bag chair. Logan clears his throat and makes a note to control the swell of pride in his chest as he sets the jar of Crofters in the basket by his desk filled with more of the same. He hasn't had to conjure his own jam ever since he started letting Virgil visit. 

Logan collects the forgotten journal from the floor and replaces it back on the shelves, watching Virgil as the dark side’s eyes begin to slip shut and the furrow in his brow eases. The very first time they’d done this Anxiety had admitted that where Morality’s room seemed to drive his instincts crazy, Logic’s had an almost opposite effect. Rather than a place swamped in memory and perception, Logan’s room was a place of pure logic, precision, and surety, grounded in the here and now. 

He’d described it as an almost forced shut-down. A mute button. And in small doses, the restricted stimulation allowed Anxiety to ease both himself and Thomas. Logan had found the concept fascinating enough that he’d welcomed the experiment, and together they’d come to a comfortable arrangement. Hence, bean bag chairs and jam.

“You know,” Logan clears his throat. “You could always use my nap pod, if you want. Curling up in that thing can’t be good for your posture.”

Virgil peeks an eye open and frowns. “That thing somehow manages to both look like a thing out of _ Alien _and like Pac-man’s going to eat my head. No way am I willingly getting anywhere near it.”

“Suit yourself,” Logan shrugs. “It’s there if you ever change your mind.” His eyes wander back to the nap pod and the gargantuan appendage beyond. “Say, Virgil.”

“Hm?”

If he were at all daunted by such things, Logan might feel bad about breaking his promise to Roman. “Did you notice anything out of place when you came in here?” He observes as Virgil sits up, pulling his headphones down around his neck and doing a quick scan of the room. Logic’s heart rate ratchets up when Anxiety’s shadowed eyes pass over the corner of the room in question.

“Um,” Virgil raises an eyebrow and loosens the tie around his neck so that it hangs loose against his shirt. “Like what?”

Logan frowns. “Anything that shouldn’t be here.” He doesn’t understand how Virgil could not notice it. “Anything out of place.”

The Dark side licks his lips and scans the room again, eyes narrowed in focus. Once again Logan is bewildered by Virgil’s lack of reaction as he circles the room. “Nothing.”

“You really don’t see anything strange?”

Virgil huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “Logan, I’m Anxiety. If there was something suspicious going on, I think I’d notice.”

Logan arches an eyebrow. “Fascinating.”

Frown deepening, Anxiety turns back to Logic. “Is this your way of telling me to get out? Because there’s nothing that doesn’t belong here but me.”

“No, no that’s not it.” Logan raises his hands and urges his fellow side to sit back down. “I apologize if that seemed strange. You can stay as long as you like, Virgil.”

Virgil’s shoulders are hunched, but he does settle back in his favorite bean bag chair. “You sure?”

“Completely.” 

Anxiety nods and pulls his headphones back on, turning his attention away. Logan waits until the other side looks engrossed in his audio recording before glancing back to the spider limb. He frowns.

Virgil had not seen it. Logan had only spotted it after Roman had showed him the same thing in his own room. Was it possible that these limbs were only visible to those who had already been alerted to their presence? What kind of entity could have such power over perception?

He could test the theory, try pointing the leg out to Virgil now that he’d confirmed the other side could not see it? But then, what if Roman was right? He’d now seen two of these legs, it stood to reason there could be more. There was no way Anxiety would be able to rest easy knowing of their presence. And if their hypothesis was correct and these were the product of some intrusive force of the Dark sides, might making Virgil aware of them only put Anxiety in harm's way? 

Logan clears his throat. “I need to speak to Roman.” And Patton, more than likely Thomas as well. They needed to get to the bottom of this. “You can stay, but don’t touch my desk.”

Virgil waves a hand without looking up. “Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Virgil. Thomas has a lot of work to get done, don’t mess up my efficiency program.”

This time Anxiety does sit up. “Okay, okay fine, geez. I won’t touch your stuff.”

Logan nods before turning for the door. “Thank you.” He leaves without looking back, and misses the forked tongue that slips from between Virgil’s lips as the Dark side watches him depart.


	8. Chapter 8

He knows Deceit is up to something. He knows it with the same assurity that tells Virgil when the leftovers in the fridge have been sitting there for too long or that Roman is telling Thomas to talk to a cute guy. He has a sense for these kinds of things. Impending doom, ill omens… food poisoning. And he intends to go hunt down the serpent for an explanation when a much more alarming siren starts in his head and he is compelled into appearing on the carpeting of Thomas’ living room floor. 

“Oh good, Anxiety. I-ah! I was hoping this would work.” Thomas is sitting cross-legged in front of the television with a controller in his hands and Virgil doesn’t have to look up to know what their host is doing.

“Oh no,” he says, reaching for the controller. “No. Thomas, we are not- give it!” Thomas ducks his grab and throws his shoulder in the way to keep Virgil from interfering with the console.

“Guys, let’s not fight.” It’s the first Virgil notices of Patton, who he can now see sitting curled up in the fetal position in the corner of the couch. He is wearing his cat onesie and his hands are balled into fists under his chin. 

“You dragged _ Patton _into this!” Virgil’s eyes are wide. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Stop yelling at me!” Thomas selects a new game and the muffled sounds of a gravel road and a car radio render them all silent. All attention turns to the screen and they watch an as yet unnamed character pull into Mount Massive Asylum. 

From the couch, Patton squeaks. “Okay Virgil’s here, can we turn it off now, please?” 

“Yes, turn it _ off_.” 

Thomas hunches his shoulders and commands his character to open a typed letter on the screen. “Trust me Patton, I want to. But I’m eighty-precent sure if I did Virgil would high-tail it for his room.” The three of them skim the printed email. “Hence, Outlast.” 

Virgil’s skin crawls as the letter is set aside and Thomas’ character collects his I.D. and video camera. Under his hoodie he can feel his unmanifested legs shift and he has to resist the urge to release them in a defensive posture. “Why is he getting out of his car? Thomas, make him get back inside.”

“Uh, I don’t think I can Virge.” 

“No, don’t get closer to the gate!”

Both Virgil and Thomas jump when Patton sidles closer, curling up near their host’s opposite shoulder. “C-can we just talk this out now?” The gate creaks as the character walks through it and Virgil throws his hood up. “Shouldn’t he have a flashlight? He’s going to waste batteries just using his camera.”

“He _ should _just go home.”

Thomas sets about exploring the outside of the asylum. “Okay, let’s. Virgil, we need to talk about what you told me after Remus showed up.”

The spider cringes at the sound of crunching gravel and shifts back a bit. “There’s nothing to talk about. And -oh look, the front door’s locked, time to go home.”

“I think there was somewhere for you to climb up around the corner.”

“Patton, you’re not helping.” Virgil shoots a glare around their host’s shoulders then turns his attention back to the screen. “Why do we need to talk about it?” 

“Because for some reason you’re scared to,” says Thomas. He tries to make eye contact but Virgil ducks the glance. “Oh there, an open window. How do I get up there?”

Virgil glowers. “I dunno, try the ladder?” 

“Right.” There is a sound of scraping metal and the three of them cringe. “Virgil,” Thomas grits out as their character climbs the rusted-out rungs. “It’s pretty obvious you’re avoiding me- oh god!”

The sound of the static television in the room they’ve climbed into swells and Thomas nearly throws the controller at the screen. Patton shrieks and Virgil pulls the hood of his jacket well over his eyes. 

“WHY?”

Virgil digs his nails into his skull through hair and fabric. “Because static televisions are cliche horror? Why does it matter, _ just leave._”

“No, I mean-” Thomas takes a deep breath as the sound dies down and their character exits the room. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not. I’m just giving you space.”

“But Virgil,” says Patton. “By not being here, you’re only hurting Thomas. We need to just air everything out and get things back to normal.”

Thomas audibly swallows. “Oh geez that’s-that’s blood on the ground. Oh, no.” Their character turns on his heel and heads back into the first room. 

“But,” says Virgil. “Things can’t go back to normal.” He releases his grip on his hoodie and lets it fall from his head. 

“Why not?” says Patton. “You’re one of us now. I don’t care if you used to be a Dark side, and neither does Thomas.”

Virgil’s expression goes deadpan. “Really, Morality? You don’t care at all that I lied.” He catches Thomas’ flinch and is torn between cringing himself and the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

Patton adjusts his glasses. “Well, it wasn’t really _ lying_. Logan, Roman, and I already knew.”

“But Thomas didn’t. And lying by omission is still lying, remember?” As if he needed the reminder of Deceit masquerading himself as Patton. Virgil zips his hoodie all the way up and stuffs his hands in his pockets while Thomas’ character explores a work desk.

“Okay, so it hurt you were keeping secrets from me.” Thomas’ spine goes rigid as the three of them eye the blood splatter on the hallway walls. “But I get it. You are always trying to look out for me, and if I knew right from the start that you were a Dark side I wouldn’t have ever started listening to you.”

“That’s not much of a bar.” Virgil shudders at the audible dial tone coming from the screen as they find another printed email. “We’re your sides, dark or not. We all try to look out for you, even Deceit -in his own way.”

“Let’s just,” Thomas grimaces and shakes his head. “Let’s just leave Deceit out of it. Okay?” 

Virgil frowns. He can read discomfort like an open book, and Thomas’ screams self-doubt. He knows Thomas does not want the serpent mentioned after how their last conversation as a group had gone. After Virgil had practically admitted to spending his time away with the other Dark sides.

Thomas clears his throat. “Why can’t things go back to the way they were? Just because the other Dark sides are making themselves known to me doesn’t mean the five of us can’t figure things out together the way we’ve always done.”

“Thomas is right,” says Patton. “Like Logan always says, knowledge is a good thing. It makes it so we can solve our problems instead of running away from them.”

Virgil buries his face in the palm of one hand while the other aggressively tears at the carpeting. “Some knowledge comes at a cost,” he mutters. “Like Pandora’s box. You take one peek and then-BAM!” He slaps his hand against his thigh and the others jump. “There’s no going back.”

“But this isn’t one of those times. Right, Virge?”

“Kiddo?”

“Look,” Virgil is careful not to make eye contact with the others as his great limb curls closer around Thomas. He wishes he had access to the leg planted in Morality’s room too, but he will settle with keeping close to Thomas for now. “There are things you still don’t know. Even you Patton, and Roman and Logan.” Thomas’ character makes it to what looks like a break room and starts to climb into an air duct. “That’s a terrible idea Thomas, what if he gets claustrophobic, or STUCK-”

“Focus, Anxiety.”

“Right, sorry.” Virgil clears his throat. “I need you to trust me when I say that being a Dark side is more complicated than you think. And if I need to stay away to deal with Deceit, or the Duke, it’s because I’m trying to protect you-AH!”

They all shriek as a figure bullrushes the door to the breakroom. High strings play and the three sit frozen until the inmate wanders back out. Patton is keening into his knees. 

“You are definitely having nightmares tonight,” Virgil sighs, reaching over to give Patton a gentle touch on the back. Their moral side looks up.

“Are you giving me a _ pat- _on the back?”

Virgil keeps the edge of terror away from the other side’s expression by offering their fatherly persona a small grin. “Sure am, buddy. You could almost say I saved you from the _ verge _of tears.”

Patton’s face immediately brightens and he near vibrates with giddy energy. “You’re comforting me with _ puns_? Thank you, kiddo.”

“Don’t mention it.” He reclaims his personal space. 

Nerves apparently fried, Thomas shuts the game off. “That was very kind of you, Virgil. And I guess, I see your point.” Their host sets the controller down and shakes himself, Virgil pulls back his great limb to give Thomas some space. “None of us know what it’s like, so maybe there will be times when we can’t help you the way we want. But, I think those are the times when it’s most important that we’re honest with each other.”

“Just tell us this, Virgil,” says Patton and Virgil braces himself. “Do you want to keep being part of the group?”

Virgil blinks. “What? Yes, of course I do.”

Looking between his two sides, Thomas smiles. “Then that’s enough for now.” Virgil’s jaw goes slack and their host folds his hands in his lap and leans back against the couch. “Look, Virgil,” says Thomas. “I’m not going to push you. I just want you to know that, dark side or not, you’re just as important to me as the others.”

Patton’s smile is so wide it looks fit to split his cheeks. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, we’ll listen. And know that nothing you can say could make your good ‘ole dad love you any less.”

Thomas nods. “What he said.”

Something in the spider gives, and Virgil has to look away to wipe his eyes. “Thanks guys,” he mutters. “I just- I need to find the right words and then I promise, I’ll tell you everything I can.”

The promise is a thin one, and it disrupts a thread of self-delusion that Virgil knows will make its way back to Deceit. He makes a mental note to put those fires out when he can. There are some things he will never willingly tell any of them, of that, he and Deceit are agreed. But perhaps, just the right amount of knowledge could smooth the edges out and make it easier for Virgil to find a balance.

“Take your time, kiddo. We’ll be here.” With that, Patton sinks out, leaving Virgil alone with their host. Thomas doesn’t say anything, but offers the dark side a small smile and it is enough to make the spider’s heart flutter. He doesn’t think he will ever get used to it. Being seen, and wanted.

Virgil cracks out a half-smile. “Is it safe for me to sink back to my room? Or do I have to worry about you playing another horror game?”

His host laughs. “No Virgil, you can go. Thanks for talking with us.”

Permission given, Virgil descends from the mindscape with a small wave, as always leaving the spectre of his great limb poised on Thomas’ shoulder. As the cool wash of Dark surrounds him, he is all at once reminded of what he had been about to do before Thomas had summoned him. He can feel the echoes of Deceit’s influence through the very fabric of his room and his mood drops. Picking a spot on the web-infested mess of Thomas’ couch he waits. He knows Deceit will come to him, and he is not disappointed.

It is not a moment later that the serpent appears, seated on the first landing of the staircase where Virgil would normally perch. He arrives without announcement or fanfare, which is to be expected, but what causes Virgil’s hackles to rise is the face the serpent wears.

His own.

Virgil’s eyes narrow, eyeshadow emboldening as he takes in the way Deceit wears his skin. This is the second time now, and he does not like the implication. The spider only just holds back its hiss.

“You better have a good explanation,” he warns and gestures to the necktie around Deceit’s neck. “And take that stupid thing off.” Deceit rolls his eyes and wills the tie away.

“Happy?”

Virgil glares. “What did you do?”

Pulling himself to his feet by the banister, Deceit drops the guise of Anxiety. He strolls forward and sits himself down on the opposite end of the couch from Virgil, propping his elbow on the arm. He spares the spider a cracked grin. “Nothing so sinister as whatever’s going through your mind, I assure you. Certainly nothing to sully your image.”

Virgil resists the urge to release his limbs. The last few days of recovery in his room, not to mention his little tussle with Remus have reminded him of how much he has missed the freedom of his true form. Instead he hides his discomfort with a slouch deeper into the couch. “Then tell me,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

“I was only doing my job, Virgil. You can’t begrudge me that.”

“How so?”

Deceit’s smile drops. “Covering your tracks.” In a move that forces Virgil to set his immediate animosity aside, Deceit actually looks away, resting the fist of a gloved hand against his mouth and staring into nothing. “In all seriousness, we might have a problem, Virgil.”

A wash of cold fear drives Virgil’s room deeper into his aspect. The walls blur and where Thomas’ furniture fades, tattered, neglected threads of the spider’s web begin to take their place. Anxiety’s hands grip the fabric of the couch, grinding the fabrication into existence. “What?” he asks.

"Roman and Logan," says Deceit, flicking his tongue out as if to dislodge an unpleasant taste.

Virgil hisses under his breath. "Yes, and?"

It only takes four words to destabilize all that the spider has spent the last two years delicately trying to build. Fists balled tight and face set in grim discomfort, Deceit’s serpent eye turns to Virgil. 

“They saw the spider.”


	9. Chapter 9

Deceit can see the moment the words finish processing in Virgil’s head. His fellow dark side’s eyes blow wide and his fingernails sharpen into claws as they dig into the couch, shearing troughs of white cotton through the dark covers. There is more to tell, but the serpent waits, patient and observant of the other’s reaction. Virgil’s inhale is shallow and rasp.

“That’s not possible.” 

Deceit can read Virgil’s desire for a response, but he continues to wait, serpent eye trained and marking each twitch of the spider’s face. Eventually, the other has enough.

“That’s not- a Light side can’t just _ see _ the spider,” says Virgil. “I made sure of it a long time ago. And it’s _ your job _to make sure it stays that way.”

That stings a little. Deceit tosses his hat against the wall and watches it catch in the thickening webbing. He runs a hand through the flattened locks of Thomas’ hair and turns to give Virgil the full attention of both halves of his face. “Was it my job, Virgil? I had no idea.” He bares his fangs at the shorter side and tenses when Virgil displays his back with a low hiss. Deceit drops the posturing. “I tried,” he admits. “I swear to you, as soon as I sensed something was off I tried to track it down and cut it off. But by the time I got to Logan he’d already seen.”

“How?” Virgil picks at his thumbnail with his thickened left incisor, eyebrows furrowed. “Logic’s weakness has always been his straightforward perspective. There’s no way he just happened to notice the leg I had in his room.”

“He didn’t,” says Deceit. “It started with the prince, though I’m sure Roman would keep anything suspicious he saw to himself. There’s_ no way _ he’d ever share something as significant as a glimpse of the spider to any of the others.” The sarcasm drips from his lips like poison.

“Damn it, Princey.” Restlessness reaching its peak, Virgil gets to his feet and begins to pace back and forth before the couch. He stops in front of Deceit with shoulders hunched and hands tucked beneath his arms. “He must have seen something when I went after Remus. Shit, I was careless.” The shadows in the room grow darker and Virgil continues, “Do they know it was me?”

Deceit shakes his head and slowly lifts himself to stand directly before the wayward dark side. “That’s why I took your form. Logan thinks you can’t see them.” That startles a snort of amusement from Virgil and Deceit’s human half grins. “Ironic, isn’t it?” He is close enough to taste the fear that surrounds Anxiety like a cloak. His tongue slips out and it makes his breathing stutter when Virgil doesn’t flinch at their proximity.

“They can’t know, Deceit. This whole Anxiety-scheme only ever worked because they didn’t know.” Virgil glares at a point beyond Deceit’s shoulder and shudders. “If they figure out that I have anything to do with the spider…” Virgil looks fit for a panic attack. His shoulders heave and sweat beads on his brow. 

Deceit sets his hands on either of Virgil’s shoulders and leans closer, forcing the other to meet his eyes “They won’t.” He can practically see the gears turning in the spider’s head, the brilliant mind of fear calculating out each possible worst-case-scenario. Running them through to their messy conclusions. A part of the serpent wants to sit back and watch the terrible beauty unfold, but he knows that action will serve him better. He smothers the downward spiral in its crib. “You and me, Virgil. We’ll fix this.”

Virgil takes a deep breath and a cool hand wraps itself around the exposed length of Deceit’s wrist, near startling him with the skin-to-skin contact. “I just settled things with Thomas,” he says. “I can’t -I won’t- lose him now.”

Deceit swallows a bitter pill of jealousy. He can only imagine what Virgil stands to lose, being the only dark side in close confidence with their host. Deceit would give almost anything for that kind of opportunity. “That won’t happen. We just need to find a way to make Logic and Creativity disregard what they’ve seen.”

“Good luck with that.”

The serpent frowns. “Thank you, Virgil. That is exactly the kind of encouragement I needed just now.” Deceit drops his hands and only feels slightly bereft when Virgil releases the grip on his wrist. “Anything else you would like to add to that? Maybe a little shake of a pom-pom?”

“Shut up and let me think. We need to figure this out quick before they think to tell Patton or Thomas.” Virgil begins his pacing again while Deceit remains in place.

“Can you recall the spider’s limbs? Just for the time being?” he asks, watching as the spider makes his rounds.

Virgil’s eyes go downcast. “No. Not the ones I have in the Light sides’ rooms, I can barely even feel them.” His eyes go narrow. “The only one I can move is the one near Thomas. And I won’t do that, it would mean leaving him defenseless.”

Deceit has to concede as much. Virgil’s true aspect, Anxiety aside, is a vital survival instinct and as much as he fears Virgil’s exposure, he shares the spider’s desire to keep Thomas protected at all cost. “That’ll make covering this up a lot harder, dear.”

Virgil clicks his tongue. “I suppose we could have the Duke hit Roman in the back of the head really hard, but I doubt Logic’s memory would be as fleeting.” 

“Shame too,” says Deceit. “And I doubt you’d sanction Remus and I kidnapping Logan and letting me take his place until this whole thing blows over?” The look Virgil gives him is answer enough. “Worth a shot.”

“_I’m completely fucked aren’t I? _”

Oh, if only. “Not yet. It seems to me you still have two options.”

“Which are?”

Deceit braces himself for whatever reaction the spider might have to his suggestion and begins to walk in a slow circle around the couch, putting the bulk of the furniture between himself and Virgil. “Well, you can either stand back and watch as the Light sides destroy _ everything _we’ve worked to achieve,” Virgil frowns and Deceit sets his hands on the back of the couch between them, leaning forward. “Or, you can reclaim your mantle, take back your power, and move the limbs out of sight until Logic and Creativity are forced to conclude that what they saw was nothing more than some ill-conceived day dream.”

Deceit holds his breath as Virgil stares at him, face blank. His heart is beating hard against his chest and the serpent can’t tell if it is fear or exhilaration. The very thought of their lost compatriot reclaiming his seat of power makes the serpent more hopeful than any dark side has the right to be. But then of course, comes reality.

Virgil’s expression turns to disgust. “No. I’m not doing that.”

Deceit hisses, bringing his fist down against the couch cushion in an impotent _ thump_. “You don’t have a choice!”

“I said, no, Deceit.”

“Why not? Can’t you see what all this prancing about like a Light side is doing to you?” He throws an arm in Virgil’s direction, lip curling at the way he can tell the spider’s shoulders are hunched stiff with the effort to hide away his true form. “You’re weak!”

“So what!? Maybe I don’t need to be strong!” Virgil’s eyes go purple in his vehemence, but Deceit is unwilling to call even that a victory as his form remains small and fragile. The violet fades. “Not if it means becoming that… _ thing _again.”

“You don’t mean that,” says Deceit, rounding his way back to Virgil’s side. “The very concept is antithetical to what you are. Virgil, just listen to yourself.”

Virgil squares his shoulders to glare up into Deceit’s eyes. “I know exactly what I am. I’m Thomas’ Anxiety.” He calls himself the false name like an honorific and it makes the serpent sick. “I make Thomas aware of risks and I’m there to help him get through them and survive. I might be his fight-or-flight response, but I’m not-”

“_Don’t._” Deceit cuts the words off before Virgil can go any farther. He can feel the scales spreading across his human side and he welcomes the extra layer of armor. He watches Virgil frown and lifts his hand, palm out. “Don’t lie to me. Not you.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Deceit brings the hand against his chest. “I’m _ Deceit. _I know when a lie is being told.” He lets out a slow, long hiss as he fights to control his own anger. “We both know Anxiety is not what you are. It never has been.”

Virgil glances away, for the first time beginning to look uncomfortable. “Deceit…”

The rage drains away. And when it goes, something heavier takes its place. “Do you remember?” Deceit says, stepping closer and tugging the glove off one scaled hand. “Oh, it must have been twenty years ago at least. Back when you and I first crawled our way out of the mire and the void.” The memory stirs like an ancient beast slumbering under a layer of silt. “We knew what we were and what it would take to survive in the Dark. We promised one another,” he cups the back of Virgil’s neck with cool, pebbled skin and runs his claws through the spider’s hair. “We promised we would triumph over all the rest. That meant something to me, did it mean nothing to you?”

Virgil still won’t look at him. “At the time,” he says. “It meant everything.”

“And now?”

“...”

“Either way.” Deceit pulls his hand back, pulse spiking as Virgil leans toward the fading touch. “It still means something to me. I swore I’d follow you through the pit of Dark or the heart of Light and I intend to.”

It seems to take physical effort, but Virgil meets Deceit’s eyes. “But you won’t respect my decision?”

“I respect the spider. Not whatever shadow you’ve become.”

Virgil flinches. Then slowly, so slow and deliberate Deceit knows the other side is trying to make a point, Virgil releases his limbs. The eight lithe spider legs slide free from the spider’s back, one going so far as to press itself against Deceit’s shoulder. “I’m still me,” he says. “I always will be. But what that means, it’s changed, Deceit.”

“Spare me the personal growth speech.” Deceit has to resist the urge to rest his hand on spider leg and cannot force himself to pull away from the touch. “Trust me, I remember it from last time.”

Virgil’s lips twist in a half-smirk. “Clearly, it didn’t take.”

“You know me,” Deceit grins back. “I can be quite set in my ways.”

“Then for now, we agree to disagree.” The spider bears his limbs in a proud display. It’s not the powerful, immutable show of strength Deceit wants, but at the moment it will have to do. “Back to the matter at hand.” 

“Of course,” The serpent steps back and bends into an -only slightly- patronizing bow. “How shall we proceed?”

Virgil’s legs brace themselves on the walls and floor, absently tracing patterns and testing the invisible webbing of the spider’s realm as Virgil thinks. “You said you convinced Logan I couldn’t see the legs?”

“Yes.”

“Then he must have put together by now that you can only see them once they’re pointed out to you.” Virgil snaps his fingers and slides his limbs away. “He’ll confirm that with Roman, then he’ll want to tell the rest of us.”

“That will include Thomas, and you know what they’ll see when they go to him.” Deceit watches Virgil frown. He is grateful at the very least that Virgil seems aware of how dangerous that could be.

Something tickles at the back of Deceit’s mind. The uncomfortable itch of his scales that comes with the threat of exposed secrets. His attention turns above their heads, where somewhere beyond the others are gathering in the mindscape. 

He feels Virgil step up beside him. “What is it?” he asks.

“We’re about to run out of time.” With a twist of his wrist Deceit silences Logic before he can mention anything directly to Thomas. His other hand mirrors the motion when he feels Creativity move to speak instead.

“I need to get up there.” The spider gathers the shadows of the room about himself and prepares to depart. “Keep their mouths shut until I can-” Virgil’s knees drop out from under him.

Deceit’s focus snaps from the room beyond. “Virgil!” He goes to kneel at the other’s side when the spider is brought to his hands and knees, back arching.

“I can’t- ugh. What the-” his head bows and with an anguished scream that rocks the foundation of the spider’s realm, Virgil loses control of his form. Eight spider legs sprout, gouging holes in the ground in an attempt to stabilize Virgil as he writhes. Deceit is forced to dodge one leg before it can plunge its way through his skull.

Black blood drips from the corner of Virgil’s mouth to land on the back of one pale hand. Deceit seethes. “That stupid, self-righteous, ingorant, _ fool_!” The serpent gathers the spider’s quaking form against him. “I’ll tear the prince’sssss ssssstupid head off.”

“N-nngh. N-no.” Virgil’s spine twists unnaturally and he lets out another unearthly cry. When it subsides, the side’s chest is heaving with the effort to breath. “Get up there, and make them stop.”

“I can't just-”

“_Please, Deceit. Just make it STOP_!” Virgil pushes him away and forces himself to unsteady feet. “_They’re afraid. If someone doesn’t calm them down quick, they’ll summon me. I c-can’t show up like this._” He gestures to the trembling limbs at his back. “_Just go, now_!”

“Fine.” With a grim set to his mouth Deceit pushes down as much of his outrage as he can and wills himself take Anxiety’s form. “I’ll be back,” he promises in Virgil’s voice.

The spider nods. “_I’m trusting you with them,_” he says. “_Don’t let me down._”

With a nod Deceit blinks himself from the spider’s realm and up. Following the taste of fear and confusion that would normally guide Virgil to the mindscape and riding its current for himself. The course leads true, and when he reforms, he is standing on the staircase of Thomas’ living room with Light sides set before him. Thomas is on the couch, huddled in the corner with his legs pulled off the ground while the other sides are all pressed against the walls in their corner of the space. All except Roman.

The prince stands at the center of the room, sword drawn and dripping a black sludge that gives off the faintest, iridescent sheen of violet ichor. And on the ground, twitching and writhing is a great, severed limb. 


	10. Chapter 10

“What is up everybody- hey, wait a second. I’m not doing a video today, what’s going on?” Thomas’ voice drifts off as he flounders, presumably wondering how he got from the upstairs to his living room. Roman doesn’t try to hide his triumphant grin as Thomas looks around, searching for the other sides. Their host’s eyes find him soon enough and the prince waves.

“Greetings, Thomas.”

“Roman?”

From across the room Logan clears his throat. “Sorry to call you away from your work, Thomas. But we need to discuss something important.”

“Call me away?” Thomas’ focus shifts from one side to the other. “You guys can do that? I thought I was the one who called you.” He scratches at the back of his head and Roman shrugs.

“Yeah, normally that’s true. Poindexter and I had to use Autopilot.”

“Indeed.” Logan fixes the set of his tie and crosses his arms. “It was a rather trying ordeal.”

“Hold up. I have an _ Autopilot_?” Thomas appears slightly horrified. “Since when do I have an Autopilot!” Their host starts patting himself down as if to find an antenna or some other control device.

“It’s not something that can be accessed easily,” Logan assures him. “But should the left and right brain act in synchrony,” he steeples his hands and gestures between himself and Roman, “we are able to influence your actions to some degree. Trust me, it is a rare phenomena.” Roman isn’t sure he likes the look Logan is giving him. Something between disdain and irritation that reminds him of why they don’t work well together. 

“Yes, wonder-nerd over there is such a left-seat driver.”

“_Me_?” Logan gasps, hand to his chest and expression overwhelmed with offense. “I’m sorry, when would I have had time to influence your figurative handling of the wheel? I was far too busy compensating for your constant distractions.” He turns to Thomas, ignoring the indignant scoff Roman delivers to his back. “Honestly, it was a wonder you didn’t get a concussion walking down the stairs, Thomas.” 

Thomas starts. “Wait, how would I have-” 

“So, we took a little tumble. Big deal.” Honestly, it was a wobble on the last step, but Roman was not willing to call the trip entirely his fault. Logic had been the one to pull him back just before urging Thomas to slide down the banister the way he’d always wanted. Therefore, not his fault. “You had us going at a snail’s pace.”

Logan clicks his tongue. “I hardly believe my suggested rate of motion would be outpaced by a common garden snail. And maintaining appropriate center of gravity is an important matter of which _ you _seem to hold little regard.”

“Okay, enough!” Thomas steps in and waves his arms, palms out to either side. “I get it, you don’t do this often -which I appreciate. But you did today, so I’m guessing there’s something important we needed to talk about?”

“Ahem,” Logan clears his throat and schools his expression as if he weren’t just in a shouting match. “You’re right, of course. Thomas, we need to discuss the possible existence of a malicious entity residing in your mind.” Geez, Roman coughs into his fist. No pulling punches or easing in, he supposes.

“Malicious?” Thomas’ face falls and his complexion goes pale. “But I thought… I thought you guys were all my sides and therefore here to look after me? Even if it’s not always in a way I’d prefer, like with Anxiety.” His eyes flick from Logan to Roman. “How can one of you be malicious?”

The prince gathers his breath and bolsters their host’s courage. It is not a topic of conversation he particularly wants to have, but as their creative spirit, it falls to him. “I’m sorry Thomas, I’m afraid I’ve let you down in allowing this beast a foothold in your mind.”

Thomas flinches. “What?”

“What Roman is failing miserably to explain,” says Logan. “Is that sometimes certain aspects of a person’s subconscious can become self-destructive. Harmful, that is, to their host.” He gestures to Roman. “These often begin as nightmares, which Roman, as your Creative spirit, has always worked to purge before they can become too influential. We have reason to believe that one such creature may have escaped his notice, and has since grown into a fully-realized entity residing somewhere in your mind.”

Thomas nods once, careful and slow. “So, I have another side?”

Logan shakes his head. “To call the entity one of your sides may be giving the creature too much credit. Think of it more as an invasive parasite.”

“Like a tapeworm,” Roman suggests, to which Thomas gives him a distrubed look. “What?”

“Tapeworm, Roman? Really?”

“Look, it was just a comparison. We’re not really talking about a tapeworm.” He straightens his spine and takes a breath. “However, Logan and I have both seen something in each of our rooms that definitely doesn’t belong.”

“... like what?”

Roman tries to keep his expression neutral, but his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. “A spider.” He glances about the mindscape living room but sees nothing, to his utter relief. “Two legs of it anyway, one in my room and one in Logan’s.”

Thomas shudders. “And the others?”

“We’re not sure,” says Logan. “I myself was not able to see these limbs until Roman pointed them out to me, and when I tried to confirm if Virgil could see them, it became apparent he could not. I’d assume the same to be the case with Patton.”

A shrug from Thomas. “Yeah, somehow I don’t feel like Patton would be able to keep something like that to himself.”

“You called?” The sudden ascendance of their moral center is accompanied by an immediate upturn in the room’s general mood. The muscles of Roman’s shoulders ease as the soothing brush of Morality’s presence washes over him. It is like being wrapped in a warm blanket and the prince is grateful for the calming effect it seems to have on Thomas.

“Hello, Patton.”

“Logan! You and Roman having a play-date with Thomas without me?” Patton shakes his head in mock disapproval, though the poorly hidden smile on his face ruins the effect. “Come on now, you cool kids too old for Dad to play too?”

Thomas’ neck twitches. “Still not my dad, Patton.”

“Or ours for that matter,” says Logan. “No Morality, we were discussing the appearance of arachnid appendages in our respective rooms. Do you have anything you would like to contribute to the discussion?”

“Ara-what now?”

Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose. “He wants to know if you’ve seen anything odd in your room lately.”

“Yes, quickly now. This situation is critical enough Logan and I used Autopilot.” Roman is not sure what about his statement moves Thomas to upgrade his pinched brow to a full facepalm, but he ignores it for the time being as Morality gasps, hands clasped with joy.

“Oh my goodness! You and Logan were able to use Autopilot!” Patton looks fit to burst with giddy energy as he bounces on his heels. “I’m so proud of you two.”

“Please don’t encourage them.” Thomas claps his hands and draws the other sides’ attention. “Patton, have you seen any spiders around lately?”

“Or specifically, spider legs,” says Logan, eager as ever to clarify. 

Patton taps his finger to his chin. “Hm. Well there was the one hiding in the corner of the bathroom, but I made sure we stayed WAY clear of that one, yeah-huh.” Morality nods, self-assured.

“I guess we can take that as a no,” says Roman.

Thomas frowns. “So, only you two can see them,” he nods to Roman and Logan.

“It would seem so, yes.” Logan nods.

“Well, then why don’t you just show us? Virgil said anything I want to know about myself I can know, right?” 

“You sure can, kiddo.”

“Well then,” Thomas rubs his hands together, looking somewhere between eager and apprehensive. Amongst the flurry of his thoughts, a stray branch of Roman’s mind formulates a stirring of curiosity. Considering the situation, his eyes drift to the stairs and he wonders why Anxiety has not shown himself yet. One would think their cautious persona would have appeared by now to warn them off such a scheme. Thomas clears his throat and opens his arms in a beckoning gesture. “I want to know. So, show me.”

Logan adjusts his glasses and flexes his wrist. “Very well. I propose we all travel to my room and I can-” the teacher goes still.

“Logan? You okay, man?” Thomas inches toward Logic only to have the side take an unsteady step back.

“Roman. Do you see it?” 

Creativity follows Logan’s rigid line of sight and sees something that makes his instincts go into overdrive. His blood boils and his hand immediately goes back to his sword. The other he holds out towards their host. “Thomas, don’t move!”

“Huh?”

“Steady now.” Roman swallows down bile as he takes in the immense, black limb sitting curved around Thomas’ shoulders. A gleaming, wicked end just dragging across the fabric of the carpeting. He doesn’t understand how it could have hidden from his view while they were all standing right before it. How could he have let something so vile get so close? “It’s here.”

“It is, where?” Thomas turns on his heel and Roman cannot hold back a shriek of alarm. Across from him, Logan shuts his eyes and tenses, unwilling to watch their host turn deeper into the creature’s grip. Creativity prepares to lunge forward, expecting the barbed spines along the leg to pierce Thomas from head to toe. But to his equal surprise and terror, rather than colliding, the great limb shifts; moving with Thomas so as to remain in contact, but not harm. Thomas completes a full rotation unscathed. “Guys, I don’t see anything.”

“Roman, Logan, you two sure you’re okay?” asks Patton.

Logan shakes himself off. “Oh sweet Galileo it moved. Thomas, there’s a-mmph,” he points towards the limb, but as he does so his other hand clamps down hard over his mouth. All that comes out after is an inaudible mumble.

Roman’s eyes narrow. “Deceit. What does he have to do with the creature?” He watches Logan try to pull the hand away from his mouth to no avail.

“What?” Thomas cringes. “But I already said I want to know! How can he keep it from me?” 

Logan looks in Roman’s direction and makes an insistent mumble from beneath his hand. Roman takes a breath. “The limb is-mmhrm.” Deceit silences him before he can get the words out. Frustration burns in the prince as Patton scratches his head, shrugging when Thomas sends him a helpless glance. He can’t believe he’s thinking it, but he really wishes Virgil were there to help put the pieces together for Thomas. Anxiety was right, he was always much more adept at out-maneuvering Deceit than the rest of them.

And he doesn’t even want to think about what stake their snake-faced adversary has in this. As he watches Logan struggle, Creativity does what comes naturally and lets his instincts work. The wheels of imagination turn and idea after idea plays itself out in his mind, searching for a solution to their mute dilemma. His free hand balls into a fist in frustration, and the creak of wound leather sparks inspiration. Roman looks down.

He still has hold of his sword and he can still move. Beneath the hand that Deceit has seized, he grins. Taking a resolute step forward, Roman draws out his weapon and in response, the leg around Thomas shifts its grip, almost like it knows what the prince has in mind. He watches as the leg loosens, almost like it is considering fleeing, then tightens itself back around Thomas. Roman’s eyes narrow and he readies the blade. His shift in stance draws their host’s attention.

“Roman, what are you doing?” But of course, he can’t answer. Instead the prince rushes forward and, in a sweeping strike, swings the blade he’s tested on the nightmares of Thomas’ psyche. Steel meets crunching armor and wet, pliable meat to sever the leg clean through. “Roman-Roman, hey, wait a-WHAT IN THE HELL!?”

“AH!”

Deceit’s influence disperses in the wake of Thomas’ outburst and Roman and Logan both sigh. Patton’s arms pinwheel as he becomes able to perceive the writhing limb that falls away from their host to twitch on the floor. With a keening whimper Morality huddles against the blinds behind him, cat hoodie gripped in his hands. 

Roman grins through the fire in his blood. “Aha! Take that, Deceit.” Roman strides forward and pins the leg in place with a downward thrust of his sword. Black blood flies from the stump to splatter against his pristine white pant leg. “Fear not, Thomas. I have freed you from it’s grip.”

Thomas staggers back and climbs up the couch until his feet are clear off the ground and as far from the spider leg as he can get. He points a shaking finger down towards the prince’s feet. “Are you saying th-that _ thing _was ON ME!?” Thomas’ voice pitches up at the end, turning into more of a high-note rasp.

“Yes, you were quite solidly in its hold,” says Logan, who is trying his best to look undaunted whilst pressed up against a wall. “Well done, Roman.”

Roman sniffs, pleased. “You’re welcome,” and pulls his weapon free. “But the question is, what do we do now?”

“Burn it! Burn it with fire!”

“Patton, please calm down.” Logan looks like he wants to go over and offer grounding support to their quaking morality, but a glimpse towards the still writhing appendage keeps him still. “I believe our best course of action would be to find the main body of this creature while it is wounded.”

“Okay,” says Thomas. “But how do we-”

A swell of Dark rises up around them, and Roman recognizes the edge of fear right before their host is interrupted.

“What the _ hell _are you guys doing!?” Roman is unable to help his sudden jerk as the newcomer's voice cuts straight across the room. But as the presence registers, the tension eases from his limbs.

“Virgil,” he sighs, “finally.”

“Yes. I was wondering when you’d finally appear,” says Logan.

Virgil however, completely ignores Logic for the time being as his eyes move first to Thomas, then zero in on the spider leg. Anxiety’s nostrils flare and under the over long sleeves of his hoodie Roman can see his hands ball into fists. “_What did you do_?” he grits, and Roman flinches at the acid tone.

“What did _ I _do?” He strides toward Virgil, stepping over the limb, only to have the other side recoil at his approach. “Virgil?”

“Put that thing away!” he says, pointing to Roman’s still drawn and bloodied sword.

“Oh yes, of course.” He quickly wills the blade clean and sheaths it at his hip. He reassures himself, as Anxiety’s shoulders sag, that Virgil’s apprehension was due to his brandished weapon rather than anything else. “Can you see it?” he asks, nodding toward the limb.

"_Yes. _I can see that you maimed something Roman, bravo.” Anxiety’s sneer is pointed and the others flinch as he gives one single clap of his hands. The dark persona glances to Logan and Patton and scoffs. “Calm down you two, that thing’s obviously not going anywhere so quit freaking out.”

“You’re not disconcerted?” asks Logan, stepping away from the wall and edging slowly back to his normal place. 

Virgil’s eyebrow arches. “Why would I be? It’s a severed limb, what’s it gonna do, bleed on me?”

“B-but. It’s a spider!”

The next deadpan is reserved for Patton. “You have seen my room, right?” The reminder of their brief entanglement in Anxiety’s cobweb-ridden abode sends the rest of them into a unified ‘oh’ of remembrance. Virgil then looks to Thomas. “Thomas, as your Anxiety I’m telling you to relax. There’s nothing to be worried about, you’ve got no complaints from me.”

Roman frowns.

“I suppose Anxiety does have a point,” says Logan. “Spiders are not necessarily always characterized in a negative sense. You even keep a pet tarantula, don’t you Virgil?”

“What!?” Patton chokes on his own breath. “Why?” 

Virgil glares. “Her name is Charlotte and she’s a wonderful, beautiful angel,” he points towards their fatherly persona. “Don’t you dare say a word about her.”

Patton’s hands shoot up in surrender. “I’m sorry!”

Virgil rolls his eyes and with a snap of his fingers, wills the bleeding limb away. “There, now it’s gone.” He crosses his arms and picks at the nails of his left hand. “Can we all stop freaking out now? All the anxiety in the air is giving me bloat.”

Something feels wrong, and Roman can’t put his finger on it. He pays little attention as Virgil and Logan begin to trade miscellaneous tidbits on spider anatomy and proper care of tarantulas. Thomas is still sitting on the couch, but now has his legs crossed and seems far more at ease. Roman crosses his arms and drums the fingers of his right hand along his arm.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, bringing the others up short.

Patton frowns. “Roman? What is it?”

He would offer their moral side a word of comfort, but the prince’s attention is fixed on Anxiety, who arches an eyebrow in return. “See something you like, Princey?” Roman fights down the rush of heat in his chest and sets a hand on his sword. He does not miss the way Virgil’s eyes dart towards his hip or the moment he edges himself back.

“Anxiety, why are you being so calm about all this?”

Virgil’s lip curls and he hunches his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Would you prefer me to be a quivering mess?”

“Hey now,” says Thomas. “I don’t think he meant it that way.” But now their host is giving the dark side a considering look. “Virgil, don’t you think we need to find out why there’s an invisible spider hanging out around you all?”

“Don’t forget yourself too, Thomas.”

Thomas flinches. “I was trying to forget actually, Logan.”

“Oh.”

Virgil shrugs. “Well yeah, but forgive me for thinking that chopping up the first thing you see that scares you is a little bit of an extreme reaction.”

Logan hums. “That is a fair point.”

“It was around Thomas!” 

Their host nods. “True, that is pretty nasty.”

Roman is unable to help a shudder. “Gah, yeah I have to admit they’re pretty disturbing. Too many legs, ugh.”

Virgil opens his mouth as if to protest, but then goes still. Roman feels a drip of ice down his spine as something dark passes over Anxiety’s eyes. Their more cautious persona settles into a small grin. “Actually, I change my mind. You're right, Roman.” The prince blinks, surprised.

“Wait, he is?” asks Logan.

“I am?”

“Very right,” says Virgil. “We can’t know for sure what it’s intentions are. So kill it, kill it while you can.”

Thomas cocks his head to the side. “So, you think we _ should _find the rest of the spider?”

“Go right ahead,” Virgil throws his arms wide and his lips stretch in a grin. “I’m all for it. With that sword of his, Roman should have no trouble hunting down the spider and cutting out its heart.” There is something tight in Anxiety’s expression and Roman finds himself holding his breath. 

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. Listen to what I am saying now.” Virgil leans forward, rotating his focus between the rest of them and lingering just for a moment longer on Roman. As he does so, Creativity notices for the first time that Virgil’s hair is tinted the slightest shade of purple, just the way it used to be. The observation passes as Anxiety goes on. “I didn’t realize it before, but think about it. If that spider thing didn’t seem strange to me, then it must be part of the Dark side, right?”

Logan nods. “Yes, I had come to a similar conclusion.” 

Virgil’s smirk turns to the teacher. “Of course you did, you’re the smartest one here.”

“Oh, well,” Logan fidgets with his glasses. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Anyway, we all know Dark sides can’t be trusted.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “The Duke, Deceit, _ me. _So, at the very least we need to find this thing and figure out what it’s supposed to be.”

“How do we do that?” asks Thomas.

Virgil shrugs. “Well, it’s not like you guys can just go waltzing around the Dark sides’ rooms to look around.” With a heavy sigh, Anxiety runs a hand through his hair. “I suppose I can snoop around a bit and-”

“Oh no,” Patton interrupts. “We are not sending you in on this alone, kiddo. Either we all go, or none of us do.” He punctuates the statement with a firm nod.

Virgil smiles. “Thanks, Dad.”

Morality practically beams. “Aw, you betcha.”

“That still doesn’t solve the practicality issue of traversing the Dark,” says Logan. “The fact remains, none of us will be able to maintain our equilibrium except Anxiety.”

Patton shrugs. “I guess that only leaves Roman’s room then.”

“Roman’s room?” asks Thomas. “What do you mean?”

The prince shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what it means, it’s not happening.” He looks to Morality. “You know we can’t take Virgil there.”

“I’ll be fine, Roman.”

“No, you won’t!” He can’t actually believe Anxiety is considering it. “Virgil, you know the effect my room will have on you.”

Virgil shrugs. “Same as the effect it will have on Patton, I just need to make sure I stay close to either you or Logan. Don’t worry about it, I trust you.”

“But-”

“Look, let’s just have Thomas decide.” Virgil turns away from Roman and gestures to their host. “What do you say, Thomas? Care to take a trip into the heart of your Creativity?”

Thomas looks torn between intrigue and concern. “I don’t know. Are you sure you’ll be okay, Virgil?” 

Anxiety huffs. “Would I go anywhere I didn’t think I’d be safe?”

“No, I guess not.” 

“Then you can bet it’ll be fine.”

Thomas nods. “Okay... if you say so, Virge.” Their host claps his hands and Roman feels like he’s let something important pass him by as Anxiety's dark eyes gleam. “Let’s do it.”


	11. Chapter 11

“So, how do we go about getting to Roman’s room?” Thomas asks. “Do I just… think about being creative?” 

Logan shakes his head. “That’s not necessary. In this case-” he goes on, but Patton loses focus as his attention is drawn from their host and logical persona to Roman. Their Creativity is standing pressed against Thomas’ television with his arms crossed and a worried crease to his brow. Unable to leave any of the others looking so distraught, Patton lets Logan tackle the logistics of transporting them to the realm of Creativity and turns to its manifestation.

“Hey there, slugger. You doing okay?”

“Hey, Patton.” Roman rubs the side of his arm and shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just… concerned for you two,” he nods to Patton and then across the room to Virgil who is watching Thomas and Logan with a quiet sort of focus.

Morality’s heart flutters a little at the explicit expression of concern and he smiles. “Come on now, it’ll be okay. We’ll have our big, strong prince to protect us!” he waves his hands to encompass all of Roman’s person. 

A small smile struggles its way onto the prince’s face, but it drowns as his focus lingers on Anxiety. “Maybe,” he says. “But my room can be dangerous, Pat. All it takes is one slip and,” he flinches without completing the thought. Patton frowns.

“Is it really that bad? But Logan goes there all the time when you need something.”

Roman makes a vague shrug. “Well sure, but he’s _ Logic_. He’s practically immune to the effect my room can have on someone’s mind.” He looks down.

“Hey guys,” Patton jumps at the sudden new voice. They collectively turn to Virgil who offers a small wave. “If we’re really doing this there’s a couple of things I’ve got to do first. I’ll meet you there.”

“Very well,” says Logic. “But don’t take too long, Thomas has important tasks to get to. We can’t let this take all day.”

“Oh sure, tracking down a dark creature in the vast expanse of the imagination,” Roman makes a contorted expression and shrugs. “Shouldn’t be more tedious than a milk run,” he mutters.

“Be seeing you,” Virgil sinks out with a small salute.

“Now, Thomas,” Logan turns to their host. “Like I said, we need you to fall asleep. Once you’ve reached the ideal peak of REM in your sleep cycle, Roman will be able to access the full breadth of your unconscious mind.”

Thomas nods. “Right, sleep.” He turns to the wall clock above the couch. “Logan it’s three p.m.”

Patton winces on behalf of their logical side as Logan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Don’t remind me,” he says. “This little misadventure will throw off your entire circadian rhythm for the next two days. Which is why it is imperative we get this over with quickly.” Logan shakes himself off as Thomas lays himself down across the couch. “Now. Sleep.”

Their host flounders. “Wha- I can’t just sleep on command!”

“You could start by closing your eyes,” says Logan, foot beginning to tap an impatient beat against the carpet. Thomas groans and buries himself under a pillow. “Asphyxiation isn’t the answer, Thomas.”

Patton shrugs. “I could tell you a bedtime story?” he offers. “Or get you a glass of warm milk?”

“Don’t think that’ll cut it, Patton,” Thomas says, from under the pillow.

“Ugh, will you just let me,” Roman groans and turns to their host. “Hey, Thomas!”

“Hm?”

“Think fast!” As their host looks up from the couch Roman conjures something resembling a semi-solid paper airplane into his hand and flings it across the room. Thomas flails, reaching up from a half-sprawled position to try and catch the sparkling fabrication, and misses completely. The paper plane swerves under their host’s arm to poke him in the head with a soft _ poof! _

“Ooh,” Patton breathes out in awe as the airplane dissolves in a shower of sparks and Thomas’ eyes begin to glaze over. “So pretty… Roman, what was that?”

The prince shrugs, looking decidedly proud as he claps imagined dust from his hands. “Just a little day dream I cooked up just now. Should get his mind to drift just long enough to… ah, there we go.” Thomas blinks, eyes heavy as he tilts over. Patton rushes over and shoves the discarded pillow under their host’s head before he falls.

“Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

As Thomas falls unconscious, the stability of the mindscape begins to wane and Patton can feel the sudden compulsion to sink back into his room. He fights it and looks to Roman. “Okay, now what?”

“Alright, everyone!” 

Patton catches Logan’s eye roll.

“Hold onto your butts!”

Unsure why it’s important, Patton goes ahead and reaches back, mirroring Logan who looks somewhat affronted. Logic says, “I’ve never had to do this before? Roman, why-”

Logan does not get to finish as he suddenly begins to sink, disappearing into a swirl of misting energy that feels like adventure and smells like springtime. Patton giggles, unable to hold back his excitement. “I’ve got my butt!” he says, and lets himself sink down, following the same path that took Logan. He only just catches Roman’s groan before he departs.

“See… this is why we need Virgil.”

Patton shuts his eyes as Thomas’ living room disappears and lets himself drift through an unfamiliar yet comforting river that eventually floats him up to a version of the mindscape with many more bright colors and a definite upgrade in finery.

“Oh my gosh! It’s like the Cinderella suite in here!” 

Patton rises up to find Thomas flitting excitedly between one piece of extravagant furniture to the next, while Roman stands beside a wooden dressing screen. “Wow! Roman I love it!” he says.

Logan rises up a moment later. “Good, you all made it.” The teacher looks around, adjusting his glasses. “Where is Anxiety?”

Roman breathes out through his nose. “He knows the way. I’m sure he’ll pop up any second-”

“Miss me?” The dark side himself appears in his normal place, sitting on the steps of an intricate, iron-worked spiral staircase, and leaning his weight almost entirely against the metal banister. 

“My child!” Patton cheers as his first instinct dictates, but his bubbling enthusiasm is quickly set adrift when he takes in the way Virgil is holding himself. The sweat beading on his brow, and the eye shadow beneath his eyes so dark it almost reaches up around his eyes like a mask. “Virgil,” he starts, this time far more hesitant. The timidity draws the attention of the other sides. “You okay, pal? You put more makeup on.”

Virgil cringes under the scrutiny for a moment and Patton takes an obliging step backward, wringing his hands beneath his chin as Anxiety’s eyes dart away and he seems to debate with himself. “... fine,” he says at last.

Patton frowns, lower lip sticking out a bit, and puts his hands on his hips. “Now now, mister. What did we say about not expressing our feelings?”

Virgil turns a glare on him, but by this point Patton likes to think he is immune to his favorite shadowling’s knee-jerk hostility. He faces the look of disdain with a patient smile and waits, holding a hand up when he sees Logan about to speak.

It takes a moment, but the wall begins to chip. “I’m just…” says Virgil. “Really, really tired, okay?” Anxiety looks away and presses the heel of one hand against his forehead. “Everything aches and getting here took a lot more out of me than I thought it would.” There is a tinge of red against the pale foundation of the dark side’s cheeks and Patton feels a little bad for making the other side feel embarrassed. 

“Perhaps you ought to stay here then,” says Roman. “The wild imagination is not for the faint of heart.” He claps his hands and suddenly Anxiety is surrounded by an array of comfort foods and the lilting music of a string quartet. “It could be like a mini vacation for you. My room can be an excellent host.” 

Patton can see the moment Virgil’s eyes go wide, a bit touched by Roman’s consideration. But he can also see when their anxious bean’s own self-deprecating tendencies kick in and he banishes the proffered comforts away with a zephyr of black wind.

“_No._” Virgil nearly gets to his feet before sinking -more like falling- back down. “This was partly my idea, wasn’t it? I’m going through with it.”

“I must agree with Virgil,” Logan says before the prince can offer any more objections. “We may need his help to navigate once we reach our destination.”

“Where’s that?” asks Thomas.

With a sigh Roman clears his throat. “Patton. If you will?” he gestures in Morality’s direction and Patton turns to see that he is standing before a bay window shrouded by a beautiful set of burgundy, velvet curtains. With an excited giggle Patton pulls the curtains back.

“Oh, wow…” he marvels.

“Wow Roman that is, that is amazing,” says Thomas as he strides up to stare out across the sweeping landscape of what Patton assumes is their host’s unfiltered imagination. Filled with every landscape, terrain, form of civilization, and environment Thomas could ever possibly conceive of. With a snap of Creativity’s fingers the windows open and Patton and Thomas can leat out of what they can now see is a tower and take in the endless world around them.

“Virgil! Come see this!” Patton says, waving behind his back without actually looking away.

“Nah, you have your fun, Pops. I’m good here.”

A little disappointed but undaunted, Patton sweeps the view until his eyes are drawn to something tucked in the shadow of a looming mountain, near the heart of a dense and vibrant wood. “Hey, Roman!” he calls over his shoulder. “What about that shadowy place?”

Thomas coughs and adopts deeper, more commanding voice. “That’s beyond our borders,” he says, grim and nodding with his arms crossed.

“You must never go there, Patton.” Roman takes up the warning with the same tone and Patton cringes back from the window.

“Huh?” He looks between their host and Creativity, unsure of how everything has gotten so serious all of a sudden. Morality frowns when there is no increase in Thomas’ overall epinephrine levels or subsequent unease from Virgil.

“I don’t understand,” says Logan. “That… that is literally our destination.” He nods in the direction of the dark patch of woods and frowns at Roman.

“They’re quoting Lion King, Logan,” says Virgil. The dark side stands to his feet, pale fingers gripping the banister beside him like a lifeline. “It’s the part of the imagination occupied by the Dark Sides.”

“Really?” Thomas leans forward again and jerks in surprise when a tripod telescope appears at his side. “Neat.” He peeks through the device and swivels it in the direction of the mountain. “But I thought this was all part of Roman’s room?”

“It is,” says Logan. “But the wild imagination is unique, unfiltered. As such, it exists across all realms.” He gestures at the area in question. “Think of it like squares and rectangles. All squares are by nature rectangles, but not all rectangles fit the definition of a square.”

Patton nods. “So, all our rooms exist in the wild imagination.”

“But not all rooms can access the imagination?” Thomas finishes.

“Was that a question or a statement, Thomas?” asks Logan.

“... statement?”

The teacher sighs. “Yes. Because he is your Creativity, Roman’s room acts somewhat like a bridge. Here we are standing on one side,” he gestures again to the world beyond. “And out there is the bridge leading simultaneously to all the other rooms, and none of them.”

“This is the safest way for us to explore the Dark Sides’ rooms without becoming overwhelmed,” says Roman. “Now, if we’re all done,” Roman snaps his fingers and the simulacra of Thomas’ living room fades away. They reappear instead on an open field, a picturesque castle at their back. “Let’s be on our way!”

“Wha- just like that?” asks Thomas.

“Well, no,” says Logan. “Roman, explain the rules.”

“Oh, right.” Roman clears his throat. “Remember folks, keep your arms and legs inside the safe zone at all times,” he snaps his fingers and a trail of yellow brick forms at their feet, leading off into the distance.

“Oh! It’s a yellow-brick road!” Patton all but squeals in excitement. “Does this mean we get to link arms? Ooh, I call the scarecrow!”

Roman grins. “I like where your head’s at, Patton.”

Logan frowns. “Attached to his neck?”

“But not quite. Nope, this is just to help you three,” Roman waves his hand to encompass Patton, Virgil, and Thomas, “keep from straying too far away. Thomas, care to help demonstrate?”

“Oh, I don’t know about- okay!” Roman doesn’t wait to hear out their host’s protest before putting a hand to Thomas’ shoulder and giving a slight push. Thomas stumbles, recovering his balance only once he has cleared the road. Patton bites his lip, waiting.

“Thomas, you okay?” he asks, resisting the urge to reach out and pull their host back.

Thomas pats himself down. “Yeah, Patton. I’m-” his eyes are drawn away. Patton hears Virgil give a slight hiss and reaches out to grip the arm of Anxiety’s hoodie. He can feel the touch settle the other side and uses it to ground himself too.

“Thomas?”

Their host doesn’t answer, he is staring at something Patton can only just make out. It is all fuzzy, vague, but Morality can sense the way it makes Thomas’ heart flutter and fill him with a sense of longing. He begins to walk away.

“Roman, _ stop him_,” says Virgil, now holding the edge of Patton’s cat hoodie where he thinks their fatherly side can’t see. 

From the head of the group Logan sighs. “Fear not,” and strides outside of the safe zone. Logic sets a quick pace and catches up to Thomas before he can stray too far, taking their host by the hand and leading him back onto the paved road. The moment their host crosses the line, his eyes clear.

“Whoa,” Thomas says. “What was that?”

“A fantasy,” says Logan, fixing his glasses. “The imagination holds a great deal of sway here. If you allow yourself to lose focus, it will consume you.”

Roman clears his throat. “I’m a fluid part of the imagination, so it doesn’t affect me. And Logan is so incompatible with it, he acts like a deadzone.”

“What makes you incompatible?” asks Patton, quirking his head.

Logan sniffs. “Fantasies are nothing but insubstantial fabrications of the subconscious. They’re not real and therefore, hold no temptation for me.” 

“Fancy way of saying you’re boring,” Roman mutters, only to be quelled by matching looks of disapproval from Thomas and Patton. “The important thing is, the two of us can hold of the effect much better if you stay close. You still need to avoid letting your mind drift too far but, if we get separated you’ll be on your own.”

“Stay on the path then,” says Thomas. “Got it.”

“Oh, and Virgil,” Roman calls out to Anxiety. Patton is a bit concerned to see that the other side has his hood drawn up and his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. “I promise, whatever you see… just remember that this right here,” he gestures to their close knit circle. “This is what’s real.” He reaches out and takes Virgil by the crook of the elbow. Anxiety flinches, causing Patton to hold his breath in preparation for a fight. Except, instead of resisting the grip, Virgil lets Roman tug him up to the front. Patton feels a little swell of pride in his two kids for becoming so amiable.

“Stay close to me, okay?” says the prince, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Patton doesn’t think Logan and Thomas even caught it.

Virgil’s eyes dip for a moment to the sword at Roman’s hip, only for him to shake his head and look up to meet Creativity’s eyes. He nods.

“Alright then!” Roman beams, slinging his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and waving for the rest to follow. _“We’re off to see the wizard!"_

_“The wonderful Wizard of Oz!”_ Thomas cheers as they begin to move forward.

“Um… um, no. No we’re not.” Logan looks concerned as he takes up the rear and Patton lingers back to link arms with him. “Thomas, we’re here to look for the spider, remember?”

Patton giggles and rests his head against Logan’s shoulder as they walk. “Just let them sing, Lo.”


	12. Chapter 12

They walk until grassy plain gives way to shrub-filled meadow. Meadow gives way to forest, and forest draws close into dense wood. The canopy above their heads thickens to blacken out the sun and the even path of paved stone beneath their feet fades into an unsteady trail of autumn-crisped litter of yellowed leaves. The air grows chill and while the sides around him begin to see their exhales manifest before their eyes, Virgil finds his own breaths come easier. The persistent ache in his chest and the raw drain of energy from his severed leg begins to ebb as the Dark greets him like welcomed friend.

“Hey, is it just me or did it just get a heck of a lot creepier around here?” asks Thomas, quickening his stride to stick his head between where Roman and Virgil walk shoulder to shoulder.

Their creative side jumps, shoulders bunching beneath the fabric of his white coat and Virgil stifles a snicker of amusement. By the glare Roman shoots in his direction, the attempt is not well carried out. Not that he’d tried that hard, to be honest. “We’re getting closer to the realms of the Dark sides,” says Roman.

A half-decayed cedar tree eases its limbs as Virgil passes, allowing him to easily push its branches aside as he goes. Behind him, Roman takes his sword to a much stouter bough with far less luck. In the same breath, an unfortunately-placed tree root catches Thomas unawares and their host sprawls on the ground, the echo of an unpleasant twinge shooting through all the sides’ ankles.

“Ow! What the _ heck!_” 

Patton is quick to rush over, abandoning Logan who continues his steady stride and is already conjuring an ice pack and wrap. Morality bites the nails of his left hand while the right gingerly rolls up Thomas' pant leg. “Are you hurt, kiddo?”

Thomas does his best to knock his moral sides’ hands away while trying to suppress the grimace on his face. “M’fine, Pat.”

“Your subconscious is attempting to warn you off of continuing down this path,” says Logan, handing the ice pack in his hands to Patton without a word. Thomas hisses as the cold touches quickly swelling skin. “It may be prudent to halt here for the time being. Until your mind has accustomed to the idea.”

“So, the woods are literally attacking me?” Thomas asks, suddenly looking up as if he expects the pines above to start raining needles upon his head. It’s actually not out of the realm of possibility and Virgil is quick to extend his awareness out in a protective bubble around their host. 

“Here, stay close to me.” He backtracks. Without realizing it Virgil finds that his easy steps have pulled him a good distance from the rest of the group. He jogs the rest of the way and sits himself down beside his host’s knee. “The trees like me here.”

“How convenient,” Logan mutters, pulling a stray maple leaf from his hair.

“Yeah, Virgey here’s like a friggin wood elf when it comes to dark side territory,” says Roman, who finally makes it back to the rest of the group with his hair a mess and an unfortunate stain of green across his chest. He combs his fingers through his mussed tresses with a huff. “Care to spread the wealth, emo?”

Virgil sneers back. “Maybe they don’t like you swinging your pointy stick around? Logan and Pat seem to be doing okay.” Patton actually has a twig stuck in his hoodie and Logan might have picked up a tick at some point, but Virgil forgoes mentioning those things for the time being. He’ll help them pick off the stray passengers later.

“Also, continuous use will dull the blade, Roman.”

“Logan, it’s a conjured sword, it doesn’t dull,” Roman says, using the clean fabric on the cuff of his sleeve to polish the sap-drenched steel. Even so, he does sheath the blade without further prompting and sits himself down in the loose circle they seem to have unconsciously formed.

“So, what? We’re camping here?” Thomas asks, peeking around. “I thought Logan said we had to do this quickly?”

“Never fear Thomas,” Logan appears from somewhere off the path with a pile of twigs and dry leaves in his arms. “Time passes differently in the imagination. A day here can mean as little as a minute in the real world.”

“Indeed! Our quest may be arduous, but through hell or high water, we will overcome.” 

Virgil snickers as Roman’s proclamation is met by a slightly horrified look from their host. “Not feeling the adventurous spirit, Thomas?” He elbows his host in the knee.

“No, I just… didn’t really prepare myself for a ‘quest’,” he actually air quotes that and Virgil wants to frame a picture of Princey’s face as he says it. “What are we going to eat? Drink? … How are we supposed to _ do our business_?”

“He means poop,” Patton says, clarifying to no one. 

“There’s always a bush,” says Virgil, jerking a thumb in the direction of a nice mulberry shrub. 

Thomas looks affronted and Roman is quick to step in before Virgil has time to fully bask in their host’s swelling anxiety. “This is all in your head, Thomas,” he says, and Virgil forces himself not to hiss in disappointment. He could have ridden that string of anxious tension for a while until Thomas figured it out. “You don’t need to do those things.”

“Unless you want to for some reason,” says Logan.

“Oh, good. That’s- that’s good.” Thomas seems to sag in relief and lays himself down on the bed of leaves beneath him. “Say-,” he breaks off in a yawn. “If I fall asleep in a dream, do I go into a second layer of dreaming?”

“Like Inception?” asks Virgil.

“Yeah, that.”

Roman taps his chin. “While that would be an interesting twist, I’m afraid not.”

“S’chill,” Thomas seems to be losing the fight against sleep and Logan conjures a field blanket that he drapes over their host as his eyes slide shut. Patton settles himself against a tree, shifting Thomas’ twisted ankle so it rests elevated on his lap.

“Why don’t we call it a night, kiddos,” he says.

Logan nods and pretends not see Morality’s grin. “I agree, Thomas needs to adjust himself to these surroundings. If he needs to sleep to do so, we should allow it.” He sits down against the same trunk as Patton and wills himself a book and headlamp, settling in to read.

The sky above the tree canopy darkens into full night and next it is Roman who prepares to bed down. The prince shifts over, leaving a clumsy trail of swept aside leaves as he moves closer to Virgil.

Anxiety arches an eyebrow as Creativity darts quick looks to the other sides and seems to confirm that they are not paying them any mind. Under his hoodie, a slithering, chord-like body shifts against Virgil’s torso.

“Speaking of adjustments,” Roman whispers. “How are you faring?”

Virgil frowns. “Fine, Roman. This place likes me remember?” The spider’s realm may loom in the stygian heart of the mountain beyond the forest, but everything Dark was still his home. The ground beneath him has changed itself from leaves to a soft carpeting of moss, and the chorus of owls and crickets in the air is almost as soothing as the ambient music Logan would download for him to listen to on his headphones.

“Yes, but-”

“Just drop it, okay?”

Roman flinches back a little, and Virgil would feel bad if not for the insistent tug of a scaled coil around his left bicep. He sighs. “Look, thanks for the concern and all,” he says. “But right now, I’m okay. I promise.”

The prince looks reluctant to believe him, but does give Anxiety a small nod. “Very well. Just… stay close tonight,” he shifts his gaze to Thomas, then back. “For Thomas.”

Virgil nods, disappointed for reasons he does not care to examine too closely. “For Thomas.” 

Apparently in agreement, Roman curls up right there on the ground, the bend of his spine pressing ever so slightly against the worn denim of Virgil’s jeans. Anxiety watches the steady rise and fall of Creativity’s chest until it slows to a pace more indicative of sleep.

A glance to the other side of the group reveals Patton to have his head tilted back against the tree, a small trail of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. Logan, it seems, has also run out of steam. He holds his book by dangling fingertips and the headlamp strapped across his forehead bobs its circle of light in time with his breaths.

It appears Virgil is the last side standing.

_ “About time,” _ the yellow serpent-head peeking from his hoodie hisses into his ear. _ “Let’ssss go sssssomewhere a little more covert." _The snake slides itself free from where it has wound itself around Virgil’s person and settles more comfortably across Anxiety’s shoulders.

Flicking the serpent in the head and then pulling his hand away before he gets bit, Virgil climbs to his feet. After sending a pulse of will into the trees, warning them to let Thomas rest easy, he makes his way to the edge of the yellow path Roman has set, and steps over it.

The effect is near instantaneous. Where within Creativity’s barrier the shroud of night had basked Virgil in navy blanket of comforting shade, the black weight of a starless sky raises the hairs on the back of his neck. The chorus of night fauna becomes the hunting cry of predators. Virgil takes a deep breath, and lets the flood of fear and apprehension flow through his every pore. 

The last of his pain fades away as the serpent across his shoulders makes its descent. 

“Feel better?” Deceit coalesces into his more human shape, a proud angle to his serpent jaw. 

Virgil doesn’t answer right away, tilting his head up and letting the icy night wind brush against his face. He knows his eyes must be alight in their purple glow at the moment, seeing as the world around them goes stark and silent. The figments around them know full well that a greater predator stands in their midst.

_ “You were right,” _he sighs and his eyeshadow recedes back to its normal state. “It doesn’t hurt now.”

Deceit leans his shoulder against a nearby tree, opening one palm in expectation when a bright red apple is dropped from up above. “I’m always right,” he says, taking a single bite before tossing the fruit away. Virgil watches the apple as it falls, rolling across the ground and decaying as it goes still under a looming shadow.

“Lie.” Virgil does his best to ignore the urge to wander off into the trees. He knows that the whispers in the wind are only figments conjured by this part of Roman’s realm, but he wants to follow. He catches sight of fluttering black wings in a nearby tree and his mouth waters. His fangs pulse within his mouth. Desperate to sink into living flesh. 

“Focus, Virgil.” Deceit is at his side in a moment, wrapping a hand around his wrist and tethering him to reality. Or whatever counts for reality when inside the wild imagination. “Wouldn’t want you to wander off without your friends, now would we?” 

The spider glares, even more so when it is met with nothing but a smirk from Deceit. He says, “I shouldn’t be here. You never should have let them decide to come here.”

The serpent shrugs. “Nothing for it I’m afraid. But at least you get something out of it.” Deceit does not try to hide his careful consideration of Virgil from head to toe. Virgil wonders if it says something about him that he does not find the gaze as prying as he might have in recent memory. “Tell me,” says the serpent. “How do you feel right now?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “I feel…” Anxious, is the word that first comes to mind. It is the feeling he expects, that is his _ aspect_. But… it does not make it past his lips. Virgil blinks and reevaluates and is surprised to find anxiety far from his mind. It is not apprehension he feels, standing here with Deceit. It’s, “anticipation.” The calm before the storm. The moment of stillness before the kill. The spider awaiting the fly from the safety of its web.

Deceit’s serpent eye sparkles and his tongue darts out in excitement. He does not even seem to notice that the forked muscle brushes Virgil’s cheek before he is stepping away, willing his normal hat and cape away in favor of a much more functional shirt and pants of the same color scheme. “Well then,” he says, dancing around the trunk of a sprawling oak. “Why not have a little fun?”

Virgil rails against the sudden spiking of his heartbeat. The instinctual urge to give in to the serpent’s offer. He can feel the limbs against his back shifting under his skin. They want to come out. They want to _ play_. “I can’t,” he says instead. “I need to get back to the others.” He turns to go, but does not take more than a few steps. He needs Deceit to guide his way, or risk becoming lost entirely.

“Come _ on, _Virgil. Just for a bit.” And oh if it doesn’t sound so tempting… The spider feels the conspiratorial brush of the forest’s shadows. They whisper that together they can win. That the night is young and Thomas will sleep a while yet before his subconscious allows the others any closer to the Dark. 

They have time.

Without permission, the spider’s lips curl up in a predatory grin. His fangs descend, short and thick where Deceit’s hang long and thin, and drip with deadly poison. He lets his limbs slide free, finding purchase on nearby rocks and trees, and glances over his shoulder. Deceit bares his fangs back at him.

“_Better get running then_,” Virgil’s tempest tongue abides.

He doesn’t think he’s seen Deceit look so pleased. “Catch me if you can.” The serpent darts into the trees, sinking into the form of an amber anaconda that darts through the leaf litter and the trees. The spider gives chase.

He makes for the canopy, long spider limbs carrying him up and away fast enough to keep pace with the darting snake below. And as he reaccustoms himself to moving on eight legs instead of two, the spider’s mind begins to work. Mapping the woods and recording the serpent’s tendencies as it hedges left and encourages Deceit to make a break to the right. The spider laughs. Laughs and dances through the woods because it knows there is no escape.

He will catch the serpent. He knows it with the same assurity that tells the spider that Deceit has an agenda the side has not yet shared with him. But that will come later. For now, the dark sides revel in their game of chase, and Virgil delights in the ghost of what once was.


	13. Chapter 13

It has been a long time since Deceit has felt the cold shiver of fear that comes from being under the singular focus of a predator. His method of affectation has rarely necessitated such risk beyond carefully planned forays. But he finds, racing through the forest floor of the wild imagination, that with the spider’s shadow streaking overhead he does not mind it so much. It is a thrill he so rarely gets to feed. After all, Virgil may be the one giving chase at the moment, but in the grand scheme it will be Deceit who snares his prey.

He angles his serpentine body into the hollowed-out shell of a collapsed tree trunk and doubles back, tasting the air as the rustle of leaves gives away the spider’s position in the canopy. Deceit basks in the momentary victory before rounding back. As much as he wants to consolidate his advantage, he won’t let Virgil get too far away. The effects of Creativity’s realm can be swift to overwhelm and without Deceit to stave it off, the spider is almost certain to succumb. 

Deceit begins an arcing loop, intending to flank Virgil’s leaping form when he senses something approaching with alarming speed. The serpent sidewinds to the left, torquing his body and darting to the side just in time to dodge a sprawling net of webbing that encompasses two full trees.

He must not have gotten as much of a drop on his spider as he’d thought. He encounters another webbed barrier up ahead and turns back into a forward dash, dropping his snake form in favor of opposable thumbs. Deceit digs his bare, scaled hands into the leaf litter and flings a collection of rock and soil backwards, using the accompanying distraction as cover to dart away.

He catches Virgil’s laughter as the spider comes colliding with the ground, glowing purple eyes catching Deceit’s gaze over the serpent’s shoulder. "Y_ou’ll have to do better than that,_” he says, giving chase again, this time from the ground. Four of his legs have retracted, giving the other dark side more room to run on his human limbs. The grin on his face is all teeth.

Deceit tosses his head back and laughs, even as he has to drop flat on the ground to dodge another of Virgil’s nets. Brown hair obstructs his vision and the serpent brushes it aside with a puff of air as he scrambles up. “Haven’t caught me yet,” says Deceit. He makes a mad dash for a wall of thorny shrubs. Half aware that he stands very little chance against the fight-or-flight instinct when it comes to a foot race, he goes flat the moment he feels a change in the current of air at his back.

As a rush of purple and black flies overhead Deceit is almost assured that he’s managed to gain another few seconds of lead time when an arm like a bolt of iron encircles his waist. The pair of them go tumbling across the ground and when the world stops spinning, Deceit is flat on his back, a grinning spider perched up above.

“Gotcha.”

They are both panting. Once it becomes obvious by the caging limbs spaced equidistant around them that Deceit is going nowhere, he lets his head fall back against the mess of leaves beneath him and sighs. The cool air of night is ambrosia to his burning lungs and he drinks it in. He can feel the brush of Virgil’s exhales flutter against the skin and scale of his cheeks. There are twigs and leaves tangled in his hair, but Deceit hardly cares.

“That has to be the most fun I’ve had in years,” he practically laughs into the air, letting his eyes fall shut to bask. He doesn’t particularly want to see Virgil’s expression in case-

Well… he’d rather let himself imagine. 

There is a hand pressed against his sternum, and Deceit can feel the slight prickle of claws catching the fabric of his conjured black shirt. It is their only point of physical contact, but through it he can feel Virgil’s body lift and fall with his breathing. His more human hand might come up to press it more firmly against his chest, but who’s to say? Deceit can feel the pounding of his own three-chambered heart through both palms.

The hand is not pulled away.

“You’re a terrible influence, you know that?” 

The words he barely registers, but it is the laugh behind the tone that draws the serpent’s gaze up. Virgil is still crouched above him, braced on four of his spider limbs and straddling Deceit across the waist. The other side’s pale cheeks are flushed from exertion and purple-toned hair dangles in a tangled mess to shadow half his face. His grin is lessened somewhat, but there is still an upturn to the spider’s lips.

Deceit swallows to give himself time to find composure. “It’s a gift,” he says, but is sure he misses the goal of cool amusement by a few degrees. He can’t stop looking at the sight of Virgil’s silhouette, spider legs arching from his back with severe grace. The cloak of Dark encompassing all from above.

Virgil huffs. “You’re such an asshole.” To Deceit’s immense disappointment, the spider rolls his shoulders and retracts his limbs, reclaiming his hand from the serpent’s chest in favor of tipping over to lay beside him on the ground. For a moment there is nothing the the air but their synchronized breathing. 

“Thanks for that.”

“Hm?”

Deceit turns his head to meet Virgil’s eyes. The spider makes a vague gesture to the space around them. “For the- you know, the chase. You were right, I haven’t had that much fun in a while.” A small chuckle slips out before the spider can think better of it, and Deceit pretends not to notice. 

Taking a calculated risk, Deceit hums in reminiscence. “Reminds me of when we rooted out Malice.”

“Ha! Yes, I remember!” The angle of Virgil’s head tilts back as he laughs, full-bodied into the sky. “That stupid wolf thought he was so high and mighty- never thought to look up.” 

“Hey!” Deceit protests. “I lost a few scales off my tail from that.”

Virgil’s smirk twists on a knife’s edge and he bares his fangs. “You lost those because you thought it was a good idea to swallow a nightmare right before. Not my fault you were a little slower than usual.”

Deceit may or may not toss a handful of leaves in the spider’s face. “Admit it, you were too busy enjoying watching me struggle to jump in sooner.”

“Fine, fine.” Virgil snorts and brushes the debris from his face. “It wasn’t like I was going to let you get eaten. Otherwise who else would I have to help me keep the Dark in order?”

Deceit pretends to think for a moment. “Remus?” 

They both cringe a little at the thought.

The memories are as fleeting as they are joyful and the serpent joins the spider in a moment of camaraderie. 

Too soon, Virgil sighs and sits up, burying a hand in his mussed hair. Deceit watches him from where he still lays on the ground. The expression of feral satisfaction is slow to die, but when it does the spider is left with a distant frown. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What am I going to do, Deceit?” Virgil doesn’t look at him, but the way he stares at the ground is like he expects to read the answer in the leaves. “About the others?”

Of course. It would be easy to forget, if Deceit were one to do so, the presence of the three Light sides sleeping not far off in their little protective bubble. But their host is slumbering among them too, and soon enough Thomas will wake, and Virgil’s absence will be noted. Disappointed but not surprised, Deceit sits up. Their shoulders are close but do not brush.

“Let them spin their wheels. We have time.”

“Not much.” Virgil picks a stray twig from his hoodie and chucks it away. “Patton and Roman might be oblivious morons half the time, but Logan’s going to notice if I start leading them in circles. Regardless they won’t stop until they find the spider.”

“And when they do?” Deceit watches Virgil cringe, one hand reaching over his shoulder to the junction where his legs would sprout. He can see the phantom pain of the limb Creativity had severed dance across the spider’s face.

Deceit draws the claws of his serpent hand through the leaves on the ground beside him, and pretends not to see the way Virgil shudders in fear. He plucks a knotted twig from the mess and holds it between two fingers. “You don’t need to be afraid of him.” With the sudden crack and tearing of wood fibers the twig snaps in two. “He won’t get another chance to hurt you. I promise.”

“Leave him alone, Deceit. He was protecting Thomas, he didn’t know.” The glare Virgil sends his way falls on unrepentant eyes. 

Deceit tosses the remaining half of his twig over his shoulder and lets his tongue slip out in disdain. “He cut your leg off, Virgil. If he points that shiny sword of his anywhere near you it’ll be the last thing he does.” 

“How about we focus on not letting it come to that.” The spider shifts around in his seated position and somehow ends up even closer, though still not quite touching Deceit. The serpent can feel the negative space where he would normally expect body heat coming from the other side. Spiders, like snakes, are cold-blooded after all. They just don’t seek heat quite the same way. Virgil continues, “I hope you had some kind of plan when you let the others decide to come here.”

“Half a plan,” says Deceit, turning his hand one way then the other. “For now, I suggest you lead them towards my realm.”

“Your realm?” 

The confused tilt to the spider’s head makes Deceit smirk. “Even that simpleton Morality must know I tried to keep Logan and Roman from drawing attention to your leg. Tell them they might find answers in my realm and I’m sure Creativity will leap at the opportunity.”

“And then what?”

Unable to help himself, Deceit leans forward close enough that he can feel Virgil’s breath against his nose. The spider doesn’t twitch and the serpent hums in amusement. “Let me worry about the detailsssss,” his tongue dances a hair’s breadth from Virgil’s ear. “At the very least it will buy us more time.”

“Fine.” Virgil smirks and brings a hand up to hover between them. Deceit holds still as the spider’s delicate claws draw near to his face. A finger winds itself around a coiled lock of Thomas’ brown hair. He says, “You know, without the stupid hat, I can almost take you seriously.”

Deceit releases a breath of air. “Maybe I’ll leave it off then.”

“Nah,” Virgil releases the coil and leans back. “You’d look too much like Princey.”

Deceit grimaces, not quite able to parcel what the spider means by that before Virgil is climbing to his feet. He offers Deceit a hand, and he takes it without question. When they are both standing Deceit realizes that the dark pitch of night has begun to lighten. The leaves of the upper canopy have gone from a dark mossy color to deep emerald green. Dawn will reach them soon.

“We should be heading back.” 

He isn’t sure if it’s the effect of the wild imagination or simply him misinterpreting, but Deceit is almost certain he can hear the bite of disappointment in Virgil’s tone as he says it. Not that he doesn’t share the sentiment. 

With a twist of will, the serpent summons his normal attire, snapping the grime of their woodland chase from his person. A wave of his hand does the same for Virgil. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well then?” Virgil offers his palm, a look of expectancy upon his face. Deceit sighs, settling his serpent palm in the spider’s hand and twining their fingers together. He lets himself melt into the sensation, abandoning his more human shape to follow the twisting coils of scale that twine themselves against Virgil’s skin. He shrinks, condenses, and then expands into his aspect, extending his body of chorded muscle along the length of the spider’s arm. He exerts a force of will to retain only a single head, appearing as a golden python as he hovers his face before Virgil, waiting for permission.

The spider hooks a finger in the collar of his hoodie and pulls it back. “Go on,” he says, gesturing with his chin. 

Deceit bobs his head and descends into the space between Virgil’s jacket and t-shirt, coiling himself over one shoulder and then three times around the other side’s torso before angling back up. He curves over the opposite shoulder and settles with his head resting against Virgil’s collarbone. 

“Comfortable?” the spider’s voice rumbles through Deceit’s entire being. 

“_Yessssssss_.” He cannot help but let the affirmation linger, and tighten his hold ever so slightly.

“Good,” says Virgil, and Deceit can feel them start to move. “Stay put. Once we make it to your realm you can slip out.” The crunch of leaves beneath Virgil’s feet are only broken by the first calls of a mourning dove as they backtrack to Creativity’s pathway. They close the distance quickly, Deceit’s influence pushing back the misleading draw of passing fantasies like two matching magnetic poles. As they draw near however, a presence begins to hover at the edge of Deceit’s awareness. One that oozes drivel and makes Deceit’s scales itch.

It only takes a moment more for Virgil to notice the same thing and go still. “The Duke.”

Deceit shifts his head up and down in confirmation. The serpent can feel the tensing of muscle as Virgil balls his hands into fists and all at once they are racing forward, crossing the last few meters of dense tree cover to the Light sides’ camp. They crash through a thorny shrub and Deceit peeks through a patch of loose stitching at Virgil’s shoulder.

Above, the first light of dawn is lighting the yellow path Creativity has set though it seems their host as well as Logic and Morality have yet to be roused. The prince himself however, is awake and standing not far off from his twin, sword raised and fury on his face. That rage melts to something far less self-assured when both halves of Creativity turn to witness Virgil’s less than covert entrance.

Roman says something, but Deceit barely registers it as he watches the Duke grin. He is not sure what could have possibly possessed the octopus to show himself with the spider riding so close to the surface of Virgil’s being, but he does not like it. He can practically feel the walls going up in Virgil’s mind, undoing everything Deceit had worked to achieve in the last few hours. The serpent strangles a sibilant hiss. He and the Duke will have to have a word soon about professional courtesy.


	14. Chapter 14

Roman is not sure how long he sleeps, but when it is not the warm touch of the sun and rather cool shadow that greets him, he knows something has gone wrong. The edges of the yellow leaves marking their path have begun to brown and curl, and around the edges some have crumbled into dust. Their dehiscent remains leave a smell of ash and sulfur in the air that Roman recognizes from the creeping influences of the Dark that probe at the edges of his realm.

His brother draws near.

“Thomas.” His eyes find his host first, because of course they do. And when they spot the young man still sleeping away on a comfortable bed of leaf and moss he moves on to a head count. Logan and Patton are still resting against their shared tree and Virgil-

Virgil is not where Roman left him.

“Virgil?” He gathers his feet under him and does a quick scan of their camp. A broken trail of underbrush leads off the path and into the darkness. “Virgil!”

“Hush, dear brother. Wouldn’t want to wake our sleeping beauties now, would we?” 

Teeth set on edge, Roman turns on his heel, drawing his sword as he meets his twin’s knowing gaze. He cannot waste time. The longer he waits, and the farther the Dark influences lead Virgil astray, the harder it will be to find him. “What have you done, Remus?”

Out of the shadows, the Duke gasps, holding palm to open mouth as if he could ever pull off either ignorance or innocence. It makes the prince’s eyebrow twitch. “What have _ I _done? Roman, I’m hurt.” He steps closer, not quite crossing the line between the pure Dark and Roman’s small path of Light. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

“Then where is he?” Roman steps forward until the tip of his blade presses against the fabric of the Duke’s black coat. “Where is Virgil? Why are you here?”

Remus rolls his eyes, flicking the edge of Creativity’s weapon away and side stepping closer to the others. “So many questions. I think the more interesting one is, why are _ you _ here?” Without meeting his brother’s eyes, Remus crouches down to the ground, two thick, glaucous tentacles slipping from his back to fall on the ground with a wet _ smack. _

Roman stifles a cringe as he watches the inhuman appendages writhe, dirt and debris from the forest floor collecting in their thick slime. He likes even less how close to Logic and Morality the Duke has chosen to perch. 

“Step back,” he warns.

A black gleam enters his other half’s eyes. “Temper, temper. Let me remind you we’re in the wild imagination here, bro.” Outside of the path the Dark seems to swell, and Remus’ two tentacles twist and pull themselves into the midst of the other sides. “Have to say I didn’t think you had it in you, PG.”

Roman steps closer and, by the darting of the Duke’s eyes, his approach is marked. “I don’t fear you, Remus.”

“Oh, I never said it was fear.” All at once Remus jumps to his feet, left arm extending itself in a third tentacle that darts in Thomas’ direction.

“Don’t!” Roman bats away the approaching arm from his host in a single-minded dash. He braces himself for a counterattack, but instead the arm recedes. “You’ll do well to keep your filth from our host,” he says, taking a fortifying breath.

Remus laughs and uses his reformed left arm to stroke the end of his mustache. “It’s less a question of bravery, more like I underestimated your stupidity.” Roman doesn’t realize how much he has been distracted until Remus tilts his head to the side. Creativity follows the gaze to where the other two tentacles have wrapped themselves around the sleeping Light sides. The wriggling end of one tentacle makes a slopping, wet noise as it winds its way around Patton’s shoulders to flick its stubbed end under their moral side’s glasses. Where the limb goes, it leaves a path of translucent slime against Morality’s skin. Patton’s glasses clatter to the ground to be buried under the leaves.

The hairs on the back of Roman’s neck stand on end and he makes a grab for the limb. “Let him go!”

“Ah, ah, ah.” The arm contorts itself out of the way of Roman’s sweeping lunge and with a slight tug of his shoulder, Remus hauls Logan from his tree. As Roman takes hold of Morality’s blue polo shirt to anchor him in relative safety, the Duke takes the opportunity to drag the logical side clear out of reach. A thick tentacle encircles itself around the slumbering teacher at Remus’ feet. “Play nice now, Princey.”

As his dark reflection releases his grip on Morality, Roman tugs the fatherly persona back and closer to Thomas. Once he feels that host and side are well enough away, he gathers his steel and stalks back to the edge of safety. “Drop him.”

“Now, now.” Instead of acquiescing, the Duke arches an eyebrow and his tentacle wraps its end around Logan’s neck. With the moon still high, Logic does not even twitch. “We both know what happens when someone tells me to stop, Roman.” Logan’s head tilts back ever so slightly as Dark Creativity’s grip tightens. “I just can’t help but hold on _ all the tighter._”

“Okay fine, enough.” Roman sheaths his weapon and raises both palms. “Just don’t hurt him.”

Black sludge drips from the Duke’s cheek-splitting grin. “That’s more like it.” Remus recalls his tentacles, leaving Logan unrestrained on the ground. “A little light on the grovelling, but I’ll give you the passing grade.” He goes on, but Roman ignores the running commentary in favor of rushing out and pulling the other Light side back to safety. “Now, tell me,” says Remus. “What brings you to my neck of the woods, broskie?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. As he pulls Logan beside Patton and Thomas, his eyes scan the treeline for any sign of their wayward companion. Virgil had shown no signs of needing to sleep when the others had all bedded down for the night, so if he’d truly wandered away… 

“We’re looking for something.” He keeps one eye on the Duke while scanning the ground for signs of struggle. There was no way Virgil would have left on his own. He wouldn’t. 

“Oh,” Remus giggles to himself. “Lose your little itsy bitsy, did you?” The Dark side tuts and sets his hands on his hips. “Now Romano, what have I told you about misplacing your things?”

_“Shut up_,” the prince snaps. A fantasy must have lured him away while Roman had slept. _ Damn it_, he should never have allowed himself to fall asleep.

Setting a hand to his brow in a faux gesture of searching, Remus traces the same treeline. “Here, Virgie-virgie! Here boy!” The Duke whistles and conjures a purple and black ball of latex rubber. He crushes the toy in his hand, releasing an ear-piercing squeak. “You know, I don’t think you’ve trained him very well, Roman.”

“Would you cut it out! He’s not a dog!”

“Have you tried teaching him to stay? I feel like that might have been useful.”

“Stop it.” Roman can feel his blood beginning to boil and he has to remind himself that now is not the time to be baited into a fight.

If Remus can tell the effect his words are having on his lighter half, he shows no sign of it. “Lay down? Roll over? Really Kid’s Meal, at the very least put a collar on the poor thing so he can get returned to you when he gets lost.”

“REMUS!”

The Duke’s lower lip juts out in a pout and he tosses the squeaker toy over his shoulder. “You’re right,” he says, and when his hand comes back down he is holding a dead crow by the foot instead. “Better?”

Roman seethes. “Just… enough. Yes, I’m not sure where Anxiety’s gone but, we’re here looking for something else.”

That brings the dark side up short. “Hm? Do tell.” Remus wills away all accoutrements to begin a languid strut along the edge of Roman’s path. “Maybe I can be of assistance.”

Roman frowns at his brother’s sudden focus. “A spider.”

“Ooh,” the darker half of creativity wriggles his fingers beneath his chin. “Spooky.” 

“If you’ve nothing to offer but useless commentary-”

“Hold up there, cowboy.” Remus holds up a hand in placation. One of his eyebrows lifts in the direction of his salted hairline. “How do you even know about the spider?”

“I should think that would be obvious. Was that not the creature who dragged you from my realm not long ago?” Despite his own worry, Roman cannot help a slight feeling of vindication when Remus’ eyes narrow. The Duke crosses his arms and arches his neck in a posturing display while one tentacles flops from his back to thrash against the ground. The thick appendage lashes itself against a nearby pine and shatters the bark. The tree groans, but does not fall.

“You saw that, huh?” Remus lifts a hand to pick at a piece of leafy debris between his teeth, all the while pretending like his more animal aspect is not giving away his agitation. “Just a little foreplay. We Dark sides play a little rougher than your wholesome bunch.”

“So, you know where it is?” Despite himself, Roman cannot help the upturn of hope in his voice.

Instead of answering right away, the Duke smacks his lips and flicks a piece of kale from his fingertips. “Right this second? Nope.”

Roman supposes that’s what he gets for assuming his other half would be of any help. “Great.” 

“But!” Remus snaps the fingers of both his hands and draws Roman’s attention to eyes so wide they look fit to burst from their skull. “I know someone who might.”

His instincts say he is being tricked. It is the last thing he would ever attribute to his brother, to help him in some quest only because he could. Ever since their divide, the two halves of creativity have only every grated against one another, causing a friction that created the first split in the wild imagination between the Light and the Dark. But, perhaps if the spider was no friend of the Duke, he might have some self-serving aim that could temporarily set their goals in alignment.

“Who?”

Remus’ smile is all teeth when he waves a hand over his face. And as they pass, the smokey rings around the dark sides’ eyes darken into deep shadows. The Duke hunches his shoulders and with a Deceit-worthy level of mimicry says, “What up, Princey?”

Roman would recognize that poor posture anywhere. “Virgil?”

The impression fades as quickly as it was conceived and the Duke claps his hands. “Bra-vo, bro. It’s too bad really, that you let the little tyke get away.”

Roman glares across the path to his brother. “You make it sound like he ran away.”

“Eh,” the dark side shrugs. “Ran, was swept off, spirited away... eloped? Call it what you want he’s not here though is he?” Picking at the dirt beneath his nails, Remus does a quick scan of the area. “Nope, doesn’t look like it.”

He has his hand on his sword before he realizes it and it takes a measure of control for him not to draw. “I’ll find him,” Roman grits between clenched teeth. “Tell me why you think Virgil knows where the spider is.”

Remus chokes on a laugh that bloats his cheeks and the Duke has to lean back when he finally releases the hyenic cackle into the air. His brother’s amusement is a bit extreme for the circumstances in Roman’s opinion, but he waits it out with the hope of _ some _useful information. Eventually, Dark Creativity settles and wipes imagined tears from his eyes.

“Ah, Prince Perfection. You’d think the favored side of creativity would be able to put two and two together.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Remus rolls his eyes and cocks a hip out as he gives Roman a blank stare. “Think hard. I know that can be difficult for you, being just one half of a whole and all.” He gives Roman a steady focus. “Why would Anxiety’s room be filled with cobwebs? Why does the side of Thomas most closely related to fear, not seem afraid of the spider?” 

He’s not sure what his brother’s aim is, trying to pick at Roman’s trust in Virgil, but he refuses to entertain such notions. Roman’s sword is drawn in the next moment and he levels it at the Duke. He doesn’t doubt Virgil’s intentions. He doesn’t.

“Virgil is more courageous than you credit,” he says. “Speak plainly about what you mean, or not at all.”

Once again, Remus rolls his eyes. “You’re really dumb as mud, aren’t you? Fine, let me spell it out for you.” The Duke takes a step forward, pressing against the the point of Roman’s sword. He leans his head forward in a conspiratorial motion and waves for Roman to come close. 

Roman’s arm wavers, and he considers dropping his sword to hear what his brother has to say. That is of course when a sound of crashing foliage erupts from behind him and both of their attentions are drawn elsewhere. 

The prince turns to look. And when he does it is like something is lifted from his shoulders, like the power of the Dark around them have been fought back. Above their heads, dawn breaks.

“...Virgil?”


	15. Chapter 15

Virgil is not entirely sure what part of him reacts with more vitriol when he sees the Duke leaning with such proximity towards Roman. Perhaps in this instance the spider and Anxiety act in concert as Virgil storms through the broken sunbeams and past the prince to get to his fellow dark side. Beneath his jacket, he can feel Deceit’s coils wrap themselves tighter around his torso. Within his balled fists, Virgil’s nails sharpen into claws.

“_You._” He ducks Roman’s grab and ignores whatever the other side is saying as he makes for the opposite end of the path. Morality and Logic are not laying in the same positions they were when he left, and he does not miss Patton’s lack of glasses or the purpling, spotted bruise blossoming across Logan’s neck. The spider sees red. 

A wordless hiss spits from Virgil’s lips as he lunges forward to take fang and claw to the lesser dark side, and he can feel his legs writhe against his spine and ribcage in their urge to spring free. Deceit twitches and clamps his serpentine body down against his back.

“_Keep it together,_” the snake whispers for the spider’s ears only. "_Now is not the time or place._"

He manages to wrest enough control to settle his arachnid aspect, but Virgil does not slow his stride. He lifts a foot to cross the opposite side of the barrier when a hand bunches itself in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Don’t!” The prince pulls Virgil back with all the strength of ego and confidence and Anxiety stumbles off-balance and falls against Roman’s chest. The hand at his back shifts to wrap around his arm. Virgil goes stiff and hopes Deceit didn’t just get crushed.

“Virgil! How nice you of you to join the party!” The Duke laughs, bracing a hand against his chest as he arches his back. Wide, senseless eyes do not break their contact with Virgil’s. 

Anxiety barely registers beyond the barest of sensation when Roman’s hand tightens around his bicep. Instead his leans his head forward and knows that his eyes are aglow in purple. Down at his side, the arm not being restrained curls backwards in a guarding stance. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t tear you apart limb from limb and fry you like calamari.”

The Duke scoffs, tossing his head in an offended arch. “We were just talking, Virgil. Just a little chit-chat between bros.” Remus gestures between himself and Roman and wiggles an eyebrow. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

The spider grimaces. “You say that like anything that comes out of that sewer drain you call a mouth could be anything worth while.” Virgil hisses at the Duke while the other side clicks his tongue.

“One man’s trash… Besides, oh dark and gloomy one.” Remus bends at the waist and lifts his hand to the side of his mouth in a stage whisper. “We were talking about _ you. _That’s a worthwhile topic, wouldn’t you say?”

“You son of a-”

Remus flaps his hand. “All good things! All the _ juicy little _ details.” 

Virgil reaches the limit of his fuse and lunges forward again, fully prepared to tear his arm free when he hears the clatter of metal against soft earth. There is a glint in the corner of his eye where Roman’s sword is dropped and suddenly he is being held by two arms like iron rods.

“Virgil, stop!” Roman’s chin is over his shoulder as the prince crushes Anxiety against his chest. Underneath his hoodie, Deceit makes a mad dash lower against his waist to avoid the reach of Roman’s arms. If he were in a clearer state of mind, Anxiety’s face might have erupted in scarlet from the excess of contact. As it stands though, the only thing boiling his blood is panicked rage.

Some distant part of himself knows he will later regret it, but the spider bucks free of Creativity’s restraint and throws an elbow backward. Hard bone meets malleable cartilage and the arms holding him back fall away. The spider sees the moment the octopus understands the gravity of his miscalculation and grins in an open-mouthed display of predatory superiority. His fangs drip poison and Virgil charges.

“Oh poopy.” The Duke conjures his morningstar as Virgil crosses into the Dark, but the spider doesn’t pause. It maintains human shape, throwing out its left arm to catch the bulbous end of the weapon, and shove it aside. Behind him, its senses alert it to Creativity’s mad scrambling, but it does not look away. It will deal with the Light side later.

“_You were warned, Remus.” _The spider takes hold of the fabric of the Duke’s jacket and throws him to the ground. It rolls its shoulders, preparing to will its limbs free, when another, less intrusive presence, makes itself known. 

The serpent puts himself in the path of the spider’s limbs and whispers, “_Virgil, stop._” Foolish, such a small form will never stand against the spider’s strength. It could tear its way through- “_Virgil, listen to me!” _He-it… it knows that voice.

Deceit, his mind determines. It… trusts- no. It heeds the serpent’s words. The spider pauses, perched over the struggling Duke with one hand forcing the morningstar to the ground and the other wrapped tight around the octopus’ throat. Thumb poised over the beating pulse of his jugular.

“Virgil?” 

The spider’s head darts to the side. Creativity is standing in a strange path of Light. It sees the self-proclaimed prince flinch at something and it forces down the purple light in its two human eyes. It would not do to reveal its strength so needlessly. Tucked against his shoulder, Deceit hisses.

“_Ignore him. He isn’t a threat."_

Oh?

“Virgil, whatever you’re seeing right now… It isn’t real.” Creativity is holding an arm out, palm open and empty. An unthreatening gesture, how odd. The spider tears at the unkempt threads of its web that connect to the realm of Logic. Demanding answers to the unwarranted show of camaraderie. Broken strands slip through its mental fingers, crumbling like sand.

When had it allowed its masterpiece to fall into such disarray? It wills its limb in Logic’s domain to set to work correcting the damage, but nothing answers its call. Where are its limbs? Why can it not feel itself?

_ “Calm down. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work._” The silken voice of Deceit is suspicious in its insight, but also reassuring in its lack of panic. Spider and serpent have always shared their aims, bled from the same vein. “_Virgil, breathe._”

Virgil? It chose a human name? 

“Anxiety, listen to me. Please.” 

Anxiety? It is not Anxiety. It is P- Through eyes glazed in raw instinct, he spots a trickle of blood dripping from Creativity’s nose. Behind the wounded Light side, his eyes find his host. Slowly, the Dark ebbs. “... Roman?”

Virgil fights his way to the surface of his own mind, viciously suppressing the panicked need to lash out at every conceivable threat. And it is in the midst of that turmoil that Remus slips free. As Roman’s eyes go from Anxiety to Dark Creativity and his expression turns sour, Virgil looks back down at the wriggling side in his grip just in time to take a fist to the face.

Within his jacket, Deceit _ hisses. _

White hot pain blooms across Virgil’s cheek and he tumbles from his perch. Beneath him the Duke lashes out again, this time with his feet, and Anxiety skids across the cluttered forest floor until he reaches the edge of Roman’s path. The prince takes hold of the loose fabric at the back of Virgil’s hoodie and hauls him the rest of the way inside. The Light hits him all at once, and it _ burns. _

Virgil smothers a groan as the Dark recedes in a mad, unfiltered rush, and energy bleeds from him at an alarming rate. He is too delirious to really process Roman’s fussing as he turns on hands and knees and pulls his hood over his head, cowering from the morning sun and burying his exposed hands under his arms.

“Well, that was fun. We’ll have to do it again soon, spinster.” Somewhere in his mind Virgil registers the Duke stumbling to his feet. From the safety of the Dark, Remus swats stray leaves from his pants. “I’d keep your rabid pet in its jar, Roman. And think about what I said.”

Virgil takes one deep breath after another, working to regain some sort of stability. At some point Roman kneels beside him and sets a hand on his shoulder. 

“I suggest you leave, Remus.” Roman presses Anxiety closer to him and Virgil lets himself be pulled into a one-armed embrace. Careful to avoid the prince’s touch, Deceit shifts himself close to Virgil’s ear.

“_We need to know what he told the prince._” He doesn’t like where the serpent is going with this. “_I need to follow him. __Stay close to Roman for now and __I’ll find you once you’ve come to my realm._” There is an edge of fury in the serpent’s tone, and Virgil knows that whatever his aim in parceling knowledge from the Duke, Deceit does not have purely utilitarian goals in mind. Still, as much as he likes the idea of vindication, the ghost of the spider looms heavy on Virgil’s shoulders. It frightens him, how close he had let himself get. How far he would have gone if not for Deceit.

He shakes his head and curls deeper within himself, one arm slipping low across his stomach to cradle the snake close. Above, Roman tightens his hold.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” says the prince.

“Adios, hermanito!” The Duke cackles and waves, all the while backpedaling deeper into the shadows. “Hablaremos después.” The retreat is poorly concealed, and through his own turmoil Virgil takes a moment to feel proud that the octopus is leaving with a swelling bruise across his throat to match the one he gave Logan.

“Y no vuelvas!” Roman shouts back.

Deceit shrinks to his smallest form. “_I’ll find you later, I promise._” Unable to speak or risk revealing the serpent’s presence, Virgil can do nothing to stop him as Deceit slips from the cuff of his hoodie and disappears.

For a moment that lasts an eternity, Virgil feels adrift. Without Deceit to act as a buffer it is as though the full force of the imagination comes harrowing down upon him and he has to brace himself with both hands to keep from absolute collapse. His breaths come in shudders and he fights the urge to let the contents of his stomach come spewing from his mouth. Hands grasp his shoulders. 

“Virgil, Virgil it’s alright. It’s alright, I’ve got you.” The prince offers a grounding presence as Virgil fumbles his way to some form of equilibrium. As the wild imagination settles into morning, he falls into a seated position against Roman’s chest. Their creative side is oddly silent as he serves as Virgil’s support and Anxiety quickly loses track of just how long they sit in quiet companionship.

Eventually though, the rest of their collective conscience catches up. 

“Ugh-woah. What is… I’m up!” Thomas springs awake with little preamble, shooting upright and looking one way to the other. “Roman? Virgil?” He can hear their host shuffle and move around, but he doesn’t look up from his own hands to see the expression on his face. “What happened?”

Roman’s hands tighten around Virgil. “It’s… it’s fine. Remus made an appearance, but we dealt with it.”

“The Duke? He was here!” There is a sound of shifting leaves and the prince twitches as if to move away. Distantly, he can feel the echo of Thomas’ momentary panic.

“...Anxiety...” Roman’s voice feels like it is coming from deep under water. “Virgil, I need to…Thomas… help the others…” Steady hands guide him upright and over to a nearby tree. “…here…going to be okay.” And then he is gone.

There is more shifting and groaning. Virgil hugs his legs to his chest and tries to disappear into the bark as the others slowly come to. He doesn’t want to intrude. He doesn’t want to see the damage Remus wrought on the other sides while he was off… his forehead drops against his knees. While he was off doing something he can’t bring himself to regret.

“Oh, it’s morning. How long were- ughm. Ahem, how long were we out?” That would be Logic. “Why-ugh. Why does my throat hurt?”

“Logan! What happened to your neck?” Patton’s rapid scrambling is followed by a muffled thump as the two Light sides probably fall to the ground in a tangled heap. “Ew… what is this stuff?”

“Patton! Get off!”

“Guys, are you both okay?” Thomas sounds closer to the others, and Virgil tries his best to suppress his own negativity. He does not want to bring the others down.

“Ergm- adequate.”

Patton makes a small noise of distaste. “Hmm, I don’t think I like this kind of goo. Roman, what happened?” The world around Virgil goes still as the sides wait for Creativity’s response. Anxiety tenses, waiting for blame. He should have been there. He told Roman he would stay close. He should have-

“I’m sorry.” Claws dig into the fabric of Virgil’s jeans when he hears Roman’s downcast voice. “I was too slow to stop Remus and he hurt you both.”

“Oh, um- well I’m not _ that _hurt,” says Patton. “It’s just a little icky.”

“Indeed. I’m sure you were preoccupied guarding Thomas and Virgil.” Logan clears his throat. “Excuse me. We can’t expect you to be everywhere at once. Especially in a place as… nonsensical, as this.”

“Yes, but-”

“No buts, mister. We support one another in this family, understood?” The fatherly persona punctuates his statement by standing to his feet and shuffling closer, by the sound of it, to Logan. “Now, let me see that neck, Lo.”

“It’s quite alright, Patton. Object impermanence, remember?”

“But it still hurts, doesn’t it?” There is the sound of quite a bit of fussing while Thomas and Roman share a conversation traded in hushed whispers. The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stand on end, and the whispers tell him to _ find out why. What did Remus say? Did Roman know- _

“That’s quite enough of that. Isn’t there someone else you should be pestering?” A heavy silence passes between Logic and Morality for a moment before Patton gasps.

“Oh, my sweet darkwing duck. Virgil!” There is a puff of air as their moral center rushes across the camp, and suddenly Anxiety finds himself encased in Patton’s arms. Gentle hands pat him up and down. “Are you hurt at all? Kiddo, talk to me, are you okay?” One palm settles behind his head while the other takes the crook of his elbow.

Virgil shakes his head. “I…” he tries, but the words flow like tar and his jaw is tight with the swell of unpleasant emotions. “_I can’t._” Patton moves as if to let him go, give him the space Anxiety so often asks for, but stops when Virgil makes a sound like a wounded animal.

“Hey, it’s okay. Do you want me to just stay here?”

A mute nod is all he can muster. Fangs tear into Virgil’s lower lip and he doesn’t know how to force the words out and tell them that it wasn’t Roman’s fault. It wasn’t Roman’s weakness that caused Logan harm or let Patton fall in the grip of Remus’ perverse influence.

It was his.

Virgil’s whole body trembles, but Patton does not pull away. “Let it out, kiddo. It’ll be alright, I promise.” With tender prodding Morality manages somehow to shift Anxiety so that he is leaning into the fatherly persona’s chest. His face is pressed into the fabric of Patton’s blue polo and two arms are gripping him close almost as desperately as he clings to the other side. One hand strokes his back up and down. “You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

“_I’m sorry_.”

“It’s not your fault, Virgil.”

He is pretty sure he’s leaving a wet spot on Patton’s clothing, but Morality does not seem to care and merely shifts to make himself more comfortable. Virgil whispers, only loud enough for Patton to hear. “We never should have come here.”

It is in a rare moment of insight, that Patton knows enough to keep his voice down as he responds, “What do you mean?”

Virgil buries himself farther into Patton’s space. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a bad idea.” He holds his breath through a shudder and fights to ignore the smothering heat Morality exudes. “You’re not safe with me.” 

“Virgil… that doesn’t matter.” Patton crushes him into the tightest hug the side can muster. “You’re one of us. And we’d rather have you here, no matter what.”

“But, there are things you don’t know.” His words come out muffled but he is confident Morality heard them as he momentarily stills. “Things about me I still haven’t told you.”

Lips press themselves to the crown of Virgil’s head. “No matter what, kiddo.” And just for a moment, Virgil lets himself believe.


	16. Chapter 16

Remus catches on fairly quickly that he is being followed. Even through the swelling skin of his neck and pinprick punctures from the spider’s claws, the whispers of the imagination raise the hairs on the back of his neck and alert him to his pursuer. He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised. As cool and refined as the serpent has always tried to present himself, in the end they are -all of them- beasts. Even if the rest have forgotten, or been consumed in the spider’s web, the Duke knows. It is a fact that will never change.

He was one of, if not the first to wander in the void of Darkness. Long before the spider ever built its throne of fear with the serpent panting at its heels, the Duke had been locked in endless conflict with the golden boy, Creativity. The parts of the wild imagination steeped in Darkness are as much a part of him as the briny waters of his realm, and he knows how to interpret its every whispering secret.

So, when the yellow anaconda sweeping through the underbrush leaps at his back with fangs extended, he turns and catches it across the jaw with hardly a second thought. Deceit hisses at him, caught and unable to move his head with Remus’ thumb and forefinger tucked under the edges of his dislocated jaws. The Duke grins against the spittle that scatters across his face.

“If you wanted to take me from behind, Deceit. All you had to do was say so.” He brings the writhing serpent closer and strokes a thumb along the smooth scales of its body. He makes a point to meet Deceit’s amber eyes while the other side does his best to twist away. “Tell me, did Virgil finally give you the boot?”

He expects it, but is still distracted by a stomach-turning, tingly sensation when Deceit’s second head sprouts. The more beastly head snaps its jaws down on the back of the Duke’s hand and the heavy, muscled coils of the anaconda’s body wrap themselves around his torso, pinning his other arm at his side. The Duke grunts as the air is forced from his lungs by the heavy, sudden constriction.

The world tilts. The attack sends them both tumbling to the ground and Remus loses hold of Deceit’s head as they roll across the forest floor wrestling for control. When they finally come to a stop, the Duke is on his back with Deceit wrapped around him and two angry serpent heads glaring down at him from above. But at least he still has one arm free. Remus refrains from conjuring his morningstar for the time being and smiles. He does his best to give a one-armed shrug.

“Welp, you’ve got me.” He lets his body attain some of the elasticity of his animal aspect and wiggles his hips. “Now what’re you going to do with me?” The more beastly head hisses, fangs dripping clear poison while the other narrows its eyes.

_ “What were you thinking?” _ The serpent clamps down its coils to still Remus’ gyrations. _ “You nearly exposed the sssssspider!” _

“Eh, who knows?” Remus cocks his head to the side and starts waving his free arm around to form a one-winged angel in the leaf litter. “Say, if you rip a wing off an angel, do you think it falls to Earth? Or Hell?”

The beastly head snaps its jaws an inch from the Duke’s nose. _“Answer me!” _

“Why are you being so pissy?” Remus abandons his leaf angel and tucks his palm under his head as a cushion. If the serpent recoils from the smell coming from his exposed underarm, then that is just a happy coincidence. “Isn’t this what you wanted from the beginning? To put a wedge between Virgil and the Light sides?”

The coils shift around him but do not tighten any further. Deceit says, _ “I didn’t assssk for you to interfere. Do you have any idea what could happen if the prince learns about the spider when Virgil isn’t ready?” _

Remus blows a raspberry into the serpent’s face and laughs. A strand of graying hair falls into his face and he blows it away with another puff of air. “You mean how Virgie the Virgin could finally get a piece of Roman’s sword in the back the way he’s always wanted? Would that really be so bad?” 

At the look of utter disdain both of Deceit’s heads display, Remus breaks out in a mad cackle. He doesn’t even care if a few of his ribs creak at the sudden tightening of the coils around him. It is endlessly entertaining to see just how priggish some of the other ‘Dark’ sides could be. Especially the poor little snake. But endless pining will do that to you, he supposes. … Sometimes he really missed Malice, at least _ that guy _knew how to have a good time.

_ “You think thissss issss funny?” _

“Hilarious. But go on,” Remus turns his head and wiggles an ear. “I’m listening.”

_ “You of all sides should know what Creativity’s sword can do. He might be a complete imbecile, but Roman could purge the spider from Thomas’ mind if he wanted.” _Within Deceit’s grip, the Duke’s right arm is crushed. 

“Um… _ ow._” The influences of the Dark forest immediately set to work repairing the damage and Remus pouts up at the still-glaring serpent. “So, I gambled a little? All’s well that ends well.”

_ “That did NOT end well!” _

Remus sniffs. “Art is subjective.”

_ “I will not get into this discussion with you! All you need to do is go crawling off back whatever little hole you climbed out of and STAY THERE.” _ The serpent leans down with both heads and bares its fangs. _ “Am I clear?” _

Remus frowns and around them, the wind whips the branches of the surrounding trees into a frenzy. “Methinks you’re being a bit too sentimental, Deceit.”

_ “What?” _

“Did you think I wouldn't catch wind of you and the spider frolicking through the woods like a pair of horny jackrabbits?” The comment has its intended effect, as the serpent’s grip loosens ever so slightly. The heads recede in a confused arch. “Admit it, this whole scheme of yours is less about making sure the spider stays Dark, and more about you getting Virgil back.”

_ “I- that’s ridiculous. We need the spider, THOMAS needs the spider.” _ The serpent’s tongue darts out in a nervous twitch. _ “That’s why I’m doing this.” _

“Now you’re just lying to yourself, honeybun.” Remus reaches into his aspect and shifts, body losing its rigidity and structure to devolve into a roiling mass of tentacles. He can hear the snake make a choked sound of surprise and disgust as his wet form slips from within Deceit’s coils and darts a few meters away. Once free and clear he coalesces and reconstitutes himself in the shape of Thomas Sanders. He retains four massive green tentacles that twist on the ground around him though, just in case the serpent decides he really wants to play. Across from him, the anaconda lifts itself on its coils and bares the fangs of both heads. 

Remus licks his lips, eyelids fluttering at the slight, nutty taste of Deceit’s poison still dripping across his face. The serpent’s golden eyes blaze and the Duke blows him a kiss. “It’s okay, Snakey-poo. We all go through a phase of wanting tight little emo ass, I get it.”

_ “How DARE-” _

Remus shrugs, not even bothering to listen. “Yours is just lasting a bit longer than most. I mean _ twenty years_, you must be about ready to pop like a balloon animal!” His tentacles twist themselves to act out the words, suckers flapping in wet popping sounds when appropriate. “Do you need someone to help you out with that?”

The serpent looks fit to lunge, but Remus knows he won’t. First off, his luck isn’t that good. Second, it’s not in Deceit’s nature to attack so blatantly. Especially in the wild imagination, so close to Remus’ little corner of Thomas’ mind. 

Besides, the serpent was never one to pick a fight he would lose.

_ “Enough.” _The two-headed snake shuts its eyes and coils in on itself, shrinking until it is the deformed face of Deceit’s human form staring back at the Duke. “This is getting us nowhere. Just tell me what you said to the prince.”

The change in topic to the subject of his twin kills the fire in Remus’ pants. He sighs and pulls in his tentacles. “You really are the definition of a limp noodle, aren’t you?” At the unimpressed arch of Deceit’s human eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. He adjusts the collar of his coat and strolls forward, closing the distance between him and Deceit. “I merely suggested that Virgil may have more information to offer them than he’s been letting on.”

“Details, Remus.” The serpent’s golden eye follows him as the Duke reaches Deceit’s more animalistic side. 

The cracked, reptilian jaw twitches as Remus leans in close to whisper, “I might have pointed out the fact that Virgil’s cobweb infestation is a _ little _coincidental.”

Deceit frowns, and there is a hiss like escaping steam that escapes from clenched teeth. “Is that all?”

“I’m hurt that you would doubt my transparency.” Remus steps back and puts a hand to his heart. “Have I not always been the most genuine of the sides?”

“You are the furthest thing from genuine,” says Deceit, one of his hands curling up to brush at his left shoulder and the grime left there by the Duke. “What you are is a perversion.”

Remus huffs, and dips his head in the slightest of glares. “Sticks and stones, Deceit.” Without really meaning to the sides begin to circle. The forest goes silent around them, the wind stilling as Deceit and Dark Creativity take measure of each other. The birds in the sky are quick to roost for fear of disturbing the vacuum of sound and Remus grins with all teeth at the way the serpent’s tongue darts out every couple seconds to taste the air. He wonders what would happen if he caught it and ripped it out. 

Deceit comes to a stop before a fruiting apple tree. He says with jaw tight, “What. Else?” 

Remus mirrors the halt in their slow dance, choosing to take a seat on the ground against a weeping willow rather than stand. Two eyes, one brown and one gold, watch his every twitch. “Nothing much. Brother dearest and I didn’t get to talk much before you two lovebirds crashed the party.” He conjures his morningstar and picks at one of the spikes on its engorged end. “There was also talk of Virgil’s surprising lack of anxiety when it comes to the spider. Curious, that,” and the Duke smirks. 

Deceit clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Fine. I doubt the prince has the spare brain cells necessary to come to a definitive conclusion with just that.” The side lifts the hat from his head and runs a gloved hand through his flattened hair before replacing it with a sigh. “However,” he glares. “Push Virgil like that again and I promise you, there will be consequences.”

Remus sticks out his lower lip and wills his morningstar away. “Oh come on, I thought you wanted the spider back?”

“When he is in a position to reclaim his power! Not when he has Creativity’s sword pointed at his back!”

“Semantics.” The Duke drums his fingers against his knee. “So, what’s your plan now?”

Above their heads a green tree python makes its way from the branches of the apple tree to wrap itself around Deceit’s shoulders. The side spares it little more than a glance, but Remus sits up just a little straighter. How odd… for a fantasy to come so close to Deceit. He is so caught up in the odd occurrence, he almost misses when Deceit begins to speak. 

“Virgil will take Thomas and the Light sides to my realm. Once they-” and he goes on from there.

“Hm.” Remus is only half listening as the serpent waxes poetic about his schemes. His focus is instead drawn to the little black fox that looks almost navy in the light of the sun, trying to sneak its way towards Deceit. Another fantasy, oddly benign given the two sides present and the portion of the wild imagination in which they inhabit. Remus could will it away of course, or send some larger figment to chase it off, but he resists the urge for the moment. He watches as it inches forward, one paw in front of the other, hunched close to the grass until it gets far enough that it can reach out and bat at Deceit’s pant leg.

The python hisses and drops from Deceit’s shoulders to circle the fox. For a glorious moment Remus hopes it will turn to a fight, but instead the kit yips in excitement, playfully batting at the serpent’s head and dodging the other’s half-hearted lunges. They circle at Deceit’s feet for a time, unbeknownst to the side, until the young vulpine grows bored. The fox barks and prances over the snake’s head, darting into the underbrush with the python hot on its heels

Remus kind of regrets not conjuring a hunter to shoot the damn thing.

“I didn’t know you were affected by the fantasies here.”

“What?” Deceit cuts off whatever else he was saying and frowns. “I’m not.”

“Well I don’t think the cute little forest creatures came out to play for me,” he says, nodding in the direction the fox and snake disappeared off into. “Interesting.”

“Were you even listening to me?” 

“N_ope_,” says Remus, with a small _ pop. _

The serpent pinches the bridge of his nose. “Figures. Look, just stay out of the way.” The hand moves from his nose to slide down Deceit’s face. “Let the seeds of doubt you’ve planted grow. And once the Light sides get to my realm, we’ll see what fruits they’ve wrought.”

The serpent snaps his fingers, and in a blink is lost to a flurry of sand that leaves a fading trail on the otherwise lush earth. Remus watches the wind scatter the grains for a moment, before stretching his mouth in a grin. His head tips back and he laughs.

He laughs, cackles, and nearly chokes on his own breathless gasps because it is all so terribly hilarious and sad. Tears that leave black trails of ink slip from the corners of his eyes from the sheer force of his howling. Remus stumbles to his feet and loses control of his left arm. The tentacle flops to the ground, nearly toppling him from the unexpected weight, and the Duke grunts. His human hand goes to his left shoulder and he tries to concentrate and get the limb to reform but cannot seem to muster the control with just how disarming it has all become. Remus slips to his knees, then flat on his back, chest still heaving with uncontrolled chuckles. He buries the palm of his right hand in his eye.

“It’s just me now, isn’t it?” He’s not sure who the words are meant for, but he throws them in the air for anyone who might be there to receive. “That’s fine. Who needs ‘em?”

The Duke continues to laugh and he does not stop for a long time.


	17. Chapter 17

He avoids the thought for as long as he can. Pushing it to the fringes of conscious thought while in the distance the looming mountain grows taller, and darker. He can feel the whispers of its labyrinthine caverns calling out to him. In a dozen voices that find their life again through his mouth. Every nightmare he’s ever had, ever poured into Thomas’ mind like poison through the ear.

They call him home.

Virgil’s feet root him to the ground as he stares through a break in the canopy. There, high above and closer to the peak of the mountain than to its base, he can see the shadow of an opening. The entrance to his realm. The seat of his aspect, the root of his power. The place where spider’s silk is stronger than steel and nothing can touch him. He tries to push the thought away, but it refuses to be ignored.

He wants to go home.

“I think we should go to Deceit’s realm.” 

The rest of the group comes to a staggering halt as Virgil’s words break their otherwise silent trek. Patton and Logan on either of his shoulders, Thomas a few steps ahead, and Roman, leading the pack, stops with a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Why?”

It is not so much that he refuses to meet the prince’s eyes, but that he cannot seem to look away from the sky. “If there is some kind of creature lurking in Thomas’ mind,” Virgil says, “then if anyone knows where to find it, it’s Deceit.” Just as well, he finds that he already misses the steady presence of the serpent. The whispered hissing in his ear to drown out all the rest.

“He did actively work to keep the spider’s presence secret,” says Logan, adjusting the set of his glasses. “It follows that he must have some knowledge of the creature.”

Thomas frowns, humming in thought and crossing his arms. “Yeah, but would he actually tell us?”

From the other end of the group, Roman snorts. “There’s nothing to be gained consorting with that snake. What are we supposed to do, stroll on up and ask him to tell us where the spider is so we can kill it?”

“Well, it’s a start.” Patton steps closer to Virgil’s side. “You really think that’s where we should go, Virgil?”

“Anybody else have a better idea?” It takes effort to turn away from the mountain and stalk his way forward, and Virgil weaves around Roman as he takes the lead. By the sound of crunching leaves that follow, he assumes the prince is trailing on his heels. The spider’s ears prick for any sound of scraping metal but he is also careful not to pull too far away. Now without any form of protection, he does not relish the idea of what fantasies the imagination would paint for him. Which skeletons would come out to play.

“Virgil, hey Virgil, wait.” Roman jogs up ahead and the whispers mute as Creativity’s presence falls like a heavy cloak around him. The muscles of his shoulders ease beneath the fabric of Virgil's hoodie. “Can we talk?”

If the conversation has anything to do with what Anxiety suspects it does, he would very much rather not. “Do we have to?” Virgil runs a hand down his face and sighs. He would offer more protest, but he has never been one to waste undue effort. When Roman takes the crook of his arm and tugs he lets himself be pulled. They move off a fair distance and the prince pulls him around a tree. Virgil’s heart rate spikes as his back meets bark with the prince looming over him. There is a hand pinning his shoulder and the dark side buries his hands in his pockets to hide his manifesting claws. “Roman…” he says, a touch of warning in the back of his throat. He is not ready for this confrontation.

“Virgil, about what happened last night with Remus.”

With an exhausted exhale, Virgil lets his head fall back against the tree. The look in Roman’s eyes is concerned but wary and teetering on what looks like the razor’s edge. Virgil does not want to be the one who knocks it one way or the other. “Look, I snapped. You know the Duke has a way of getting to me and I-”

Roman cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Virgil, where were you?”

“What?”

Roman takes a deep breath and settles his second hand on Virgil’s other shoulder, pressing him against the tree. “When I woke up, you were gone. You were off the path.” The question sits between them unasked, but the prince’s stare demands an answer regardless. “You promised to stay close.”

“I know.”

“You were supposed to look after Thomas, the rest of us. I trusted you.”

“I-” Virgil doesn’t know how to answer without risking further incrimination. Whether he should admit to consulting with Deceit, or fabricate a lie to suit his needs. So, he does neither. He stands in silence, grinding his teeth behind pursed lips while Roman studies his face. Trying to read a truth Virgil will not share.

Finally, Roman speaks. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, fine.” The prince’s face is grim but earnest as his hands shift from Virgil’s shoulders to cradle his face. The spider goes stiff as calloused thumbs brush the shadows under his eyes. “I’m just glad you came back. But please,” Roman tongue darts across his lips in a nervous sweep. “Know that I’m on your side. You don’t have to hide the truth from me.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Virgil. I know.”

If Virgil’s breath comes short he can hardly be blamed. All at once the prince is standing far too close and the scent of steel is sharp in the air. Careful, slow and calculated a purple spider limb sprouts from low on Virgil’s back, curled against the tree so as to remain out of sight. The limb will not stand up against the bite of Creativity’s sword, but it can buy time. Time enough for him to run.

“Roman.” Pleas are on his tongue. He does not want to be the bad guy again. He does not want to lose the others, lose Thomas. He does not want to be- “I can explain. Please- Roman you don’t have to-”

“Woah, there. Calm down.” 

Anxiety doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Roman’s there guiding his breaths, pulling him from the tree and into a tight hug. There is an arm pulled across his shoulders and a hand pressed to the back of his head. Quick as instinct, the arachnid limb is pulled back into his body. 

“No need to panic,” says Roman. The hilt of the prince’s sword is pressing against his hip and Virgil swallows thick. “We’re the same, aren’t we?”

The same? “... what?”

“The cobwebs in your room. What Remus said…” Roman pulls back and when he meets Virgil’s gaze, it is with a misplaced mirth in his eyes. Virgil feels his apprehension sink, dragging down with it the vaguest of hopes. “You and the spider were split from the same being, just as Remus and I were once together Imagination. Weren’t you?”

Virgil staggers back a step and falls back against the same tree, out of the prince’s arms. “That’s… You came up with that all on your own, did you?” A debilitating sort of relief sweeps over him in a wave.

Still standing in the same place, the idiot looks too damn proud of himself. “You don’t have to worry. I don’t hold it against you, same as the rest of you don’t judge me by Remus’... tendencies.”

It’s such an obvious out, Virgil reaches for it without a second thought. “Y-you’re right.” Invisible threads pull tight along the fabric of the spider’s web. “I was worried what you and the others might think.” Virgil takes a deep breath and rests a hand on the crook of Roman’s sword arm. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s okay.” Roman’s hand comes up to clasp over his and Virgil feels the brush of skin on skin like a branding iron. “We don’t have to tell the others if you’re not ready.”

Hallelujah. He doubts Logan would be so easily swayed by such a convenient story. “Thank you.”

“Speak nothing of it, my friend.” Roman laughs and the sound is both like music and the screams of the drowning. “Now that that’s settled,” he slaps Virgil on the shoulder, “we should speak of your idea to interrogate our two-faced counterpart.”

Virgil rolls his eyes and shoves the prince away with one hand, the other rubbing his abused arm. “Interrogate is a bit of a strong word.” He steps away from the tree and back in the direction of the others, eager to leave their previous conversation well enough behind. “Like I said before, he wants what’s best for Thomas, same as the rest of us. Convince him that finding the spider is what’s best, and he’ll point us in the right direction.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil sees Roman shrug, foot catching on a loose tree root as he does so. “Or at least,” he says, “definitely in the wrong one. I suppose I see your point.”

They return to the others to find Thomas and Patton sitting cross-legged and playing patty-cake while Logan watches from perched atop a boulder. “Are you two done colluding?” asks the teacher over the rim of his glasses.

Virgil wrinkles his nose. “Colluding?”

“Why yes we are!”

“Roman, that wasn’t colluding.”

“Whatever you say, pal. Let us be off!” With renewed energy in his step, Roman gathers the others up. “We make haste for the realm of Deceit.”

Thomas looks unusually pleased for some reason and Virgil targets him a with a suspicious glare. His host just grins back before looking to Roman. “You seem to have changed your tune, Roman.”

“I don’t recall him singing,” says Logan. “But if we’ve settled on a course of action, then I suggest we be on our way.”

“Well, how do we go about getting to Deceit’s room from here?” Patton asks, glancing around as if for a road sign.

Their host scratches at the back of his head. “Would me thinking about lying help? Or should I just start blurting out a bunch of lies?” He points at Patton. “Your shirt’s red!”

Their moral compass frowns. “Now, Thomas. What have I said about lying?”

Beside Virgil, Roman taps his chin. “You know, I’m not really sure. I’ve never gone there myself.” He shrugs. “No real reason to.”

Logan clicks his tongue. “Well I suppose that just leaves you, Anxiety. Any ideas?”

He is somewhat glad he’s at least developed a modicum of comfort with being the center of attention by this point. Cracking the knuckles of both hands Virgil shakes himself out. “Deceit’s realm is a desert,” he says. "From what I saw from Roman’s castle, it would take forever for us to get there on foot.” 

“Perhaps Roman can conjure us an aircraft of some sort?”

Creativity brightens, lifting a hand to snap his fingers.

“No!” Virgil shoots a glare at Roman and Logan both. “We are NOT flying.”

Thomas shrugs. “Something on the ground then? A car?” a quick glance at their surroundings. “Or maybe an ATV?”

“Ooh, or horses?” suggests Patton.

“No, horses don’t like Anxiety,” says Roman.

“Huh?” Patton looks about ready to cry on Virgil’s behalf. “Why?”

Virgil shrugs. “Same reason dogs, cats, any of the creatures that are considered Light here don’t like me. They can sense I’m Dark and it makes them jumpy.”

“How’d you figure that out?” asks Thomas with a quirk of his head.

Virgil’s lips twist in a lop-sided grin at the memory, and when he shoots a look to the prince, he sees that Roman is stifling a laugh as well. It is such a strange encounter, to remember fondly. And he has to admit, in the grand scheme of things it isn’t one of Virgil’s prouder moments. It would be embarrassing really, if the end result hadn’t been a first step towards this strange family of his.

“When Anxiety first appeared, I found him wandering around in my realm,” says Roman. 

“Yeah,” Virgil chuckles to himself. “Princey here was all hyped up to play white knight. Came charging at me on a white horse and everything.”

“How was I supposed to react? You came walking straight out of the Dark looking all gloom and doom, it was the natural course of action.”

At some point Thomas and Patton had sat themselves on the ground, legs crossed with expressions of peaked interest. Logan didn’t look half so excited, but he did have an ear turned in their direction while keeping an eye out on their surroundings.

“Anyway, the horse absolutely freaked the second I got close and nearly chucked Roman off its back.”

“_That, _is an exaggeration.”

A shrug. “Whatever. Anyway, over the years we experimented some. Tried reintroducing me to some of his favorite creatures in the mindscape.”

Roman sighed and set his hands on his hips, head dipping in defeat. “But no matter what, they just don’t seem to like Virgil. Even with me there to mediate.”

“S’fine. I’ve got my own pets.” He pats Roman’s back, a little awkwardly given the circumstances and the others present. “But the point is, no. Horses won’t work.”

“I hardly see how a one word response necessitated an entire anecdotal backstory.”

Roman snorts. “Context, four-eyes.”

“Don’t be mean, Roman.” says Thomas. “Virgil, does that mean we have to walk, or do you have another idea?”

Virgil rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “I do, actually. But I’ll be honest, it’s going to be a bumpy ride for you guys.”

Logan drums his fingers against an arm. “You’re going to teleport us?”

“Sort of. Kind of like when Deceit took us all to his courtroom scenario.” The Light sides flinch along with Thomas.

“Yeah, that was a bit of a rough landing,” says Patton.

Virgil bites his lip. “Well, this is gonna be a lot worse. Everybody get in close.” He waves his hands and Patton and Thomas get to their feet, stepping closer to Roman as Logan does the same. Once within arm’s length, the three Light sides and host link hands. The spider blinks. “Okay, I guess holding hands works.” He puts a hand on Roman’s shoulder and another on Logan’s, linking the circle. “Hold onto your butts.”

Logan sniffs. “I’m not falling for that again.”

Virgil pays the comment little mind as he shuts his eyes and compels the Dark around them to cascade. He hears the others gasp and feels the abyssal winds at his command coalesce around the group in a black typhoon thick enough to block out the very sun above their heads. The Light sides tense, grasping each other tighter as the power of the spider blinds their eyes. The world beneath them drops away and Virgil extends his presence, limbs sprouting from his back to feel for the familiar pattern of Deceit’s realm. 

A whisper. A sibilant hiss. And the spider knows his destination. With a twist of will it is no longer the solid earth of the forest beneath their feet, but the endless, shifting grains of sand. Virgil's feet touch down, the winds disperse, and the Light sides scatter across the towering dunes like dust motes in autumn. Only Anxiety, experienced in such methods of travel and navigating the unsure terrain is left standing, limbs spread and rooted into the sand for purchase. 

He lands alone.

"Guys?" Virgil knows he brought the others with him. He'd kept grip on Logic and Creativity right up until the moment he'd touched down. They couldn't have gone far. "Guys!" 

Anxiety turns on his feet. Shadowing his eyes against the perpetual sunset bleeding across the sky, he surveys the endless rolling dunes around him. He calls out the others' names. He calls, and no one answers. Virgil's shoulders sag.

"Great."


	18. Chapter 18

It shouldn’t surprise Logan by this point, that the low-probability schemes of his fellow sides more often than not end with him bearing some level of indignity. With Deceit, it had been the utter crime of discluding him from a literal courtroom. With Roman, it had meant indulging the prince in his ridiculous attempts at creating something purely unique and original -although he will confess to some satisfaction in having bested their creative side in a duel of lyrical wit. And perhaps most abhorrent of all, Patton seemed to have no end to his ways of tricking Logan into punning. 

With these data sets in mind, the obvious conclusion dictated that Virgil’s attempt to hastily transport their group to Deceit’s portion of the wild imagination would end with Logan somehow suffering for it.

He just… hadn’t foreseen a mouthful of sand when he’d done his calculations.

“Lo! Logan, are you okay?” Somewhere above, he can hear Morality fussing about, and the distant feeling of someone digging around in the sand up near his exposed legs and waist. “Oh dear, you’re really buried in there aren’t you? Don’t panic, I’ve got this.” The hands abandon their task of trying to dig him out of his hole to grasp his ankles instead.

“I’m gonna pull, okay?” 

He is not sure how Patton expects him to respond, and elects not to try as their fatherly persona performs a redundant countdown before yanking on his legs. The effort is disappointing and fruitless.

“Um… I’m gonna try again!”

Logan really wishes he could move his arms. Then, at least, he could try and communicate some alternative strategy. Instead, he readies himself for another useless tug. Honestly, he might appreciate the unfathomable feat of balance Patton is in constant act of performing to help Thomas parcel his way through all of the sides’ contributions, but sometimes-

“One… Two… THREE!”

Logic loses all train of thought when he is all at once, unceremoniously hauled from his arenaceous prison. 

“Logan!”

Streams of gritty particles fall from his clothes, his mouth, every conceivable crevice as Logan’s lower half is dropped to the ground and he coughs out the surprising amount of sand that had made it into his mouth. He turns from his back onto his side to encourage the expulsion from his lungs, and is glad of it when Morality comes to kneel at his side and beat a hand against his back.

“I’m so glad you’re here. That’s it, get it out.” The strikes turn to comforting circles as the last of the sand leaves Logan’s mouth and he instead drinks in the pleasure of taking long, unhindered breaths. “I was so worried when I landed and couldn’t see Thomas or the others. But you’re here, so I’m sure everything will be okay.”

Thomas and the others weren’t with them? Logan blinks for a moment, panicking as the world appears a bluried mess, when Patton presses something into his hands.

“Here, I found your glasses.” Logan slides the frames back into place and climbs to his feet, Patton standing close by for support.

He opens his mouth to thank the moral aspect except, “...” nothing comes out.

“Logan?”

“...” It doesn’t make sense. He tries again and again, opening his mouth and willing his lungs and vocal chords to work in concert. For his mouth and tongue to form the shapes to produce the correct sound. He does not understand why he can’t speak. Logan puts a hand to his larynx and hums. Once again there is no perceivable sound, and yet he can feel his vocal cords as they vibrate.

Patton steps into view, his hair mussed and his cat hoodie looking like it is about to fall from his shoulders. “Logan, what’s wrong? Why can’t you talk?”

I don’t know, he wants to say. But seeing as the effort would be wasted, he settles for a shrug. With a jerk of his head towards the nearby peak of a dune he takes Morality’s hand and tugs him upward. It is a difficult path, trodding up the steep hill while the sand beneath their feet continuously slips away, but they endure. And soon enough, they stand perched at the apex, granting a full three-hundred and sixty degree view of their surroundings.

It is remarkably consistent. Sand, sand, and over there, more sand. Worse yet, not a sight or sign of any of the others. Logan sighs through his nose and drops his face into a palm.

“I don’t see any of the others,” says Patton. “Do you think they made it here?”

Logan frowns, steepling his hands beneath his chin as he considers. Despite Virgil’s obviously dismal attempts at successfully transporting them together, he doubts the other side would be so incompetent as to not at least carry them all to the same realm. Whatever hindrances Anxiety might set on himself due to lack of confidence or fear, there is not another side Logan trusts more in terms of practical capability.

No, it wasn’t the transportation that failed, rather the landing. For Patton’s benefit he shakes his head and reaches over to straighten and retie the knot of the moral side’s hoodie. He gives Morality a single, determined nod. The others must be wandering the same desert, they just need to find them.

Patton takes a deep breath and smiles. “If you say so. But, I wonder why you can’t talk.” Taking his chin between thumb and forefinger, Patton quirks his head to the side. “Did you swallow too much sand?”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses and feels the muscles in his jaw tick. He wonders if Patton is aware of how much his lip sticks out in a pout when he’s thinking too hard. With great reluctance Logan lifts an arm and gestures vaguely to the world around them. 

“Uh, the sky?”

Oof, this is going to be harder than Logan thought. He shakes his head and bends down to pick up a handful of sand. The grain slips through his fingers as he lifts it and with his spare hand he gestures to the falling stream, then again to the rest of the desert.

“The desert.”

Yes! Logan points to Patton with one hand and taps his own nose with the other. He gestures to the desert again and then to his throat. 

A furrow forms between Patton’s eyebrows and the moral side readjusts his glasses while staring at Logan like he is trying to decipher some incomprehensible text. “You can’t talk because of the desert… but not the sand.”

A nod. Yes, yes. He makes a circular motion with his hand and does his best to urge Morality to move on. He levels an arm perpendicular to himself and Patton and wiggles it in his best impression of a slithering motion.

“Worm! No… snake!” Yes! _ Well done, _ Patton! “Okay, snake… um, Deceit!”

Pieces present, Logan opens both arms to Patton and waits with bated breath to see if he can put them together. 

“It’s because we’re in Deceit’s realm!” Patton claps both his hands, proud of himself for winning the impromptu game of charades, and does a little jump of excitement before going still as the implication makes its sluggish way in the wake of achievement.

“Wait, but that means you won’t be able to talk as long as we’re here.” Logan shrugs. It will certainly slow their progress, but Patton has already proven the handicap not to be a debilitating one. He is confident that by the time they find the others, the pair of them will have found a passable means of efficient communication.

They are Logic and Morality after all. Between Logan’s practicality and Patton’s empathetic intuition there is not a better suited pair to navigate the situation.

Not willing to let Patton sulk over this new information, Logan pats his cheek to get his attention and takes his wrist. Come, he wants to say, but instead makes a suggestive tug. They have friends to find.

“You’re right,” says Morality and he threads their fingers together. “Let’s go find the others.”

Question is, where to start? Logan takes another look across the horizon. The sky above them bleeds reds and blues and pinks in a dramatic sunset display, and the effect casts dark shadows across the sand. He scans the dunes for any sign, any hint of the others’ trail.

Nothing. There is no trace, and so he turns to Patton. As Logic, he is not one to make decisions based on gut impulse or instinct. Morality however… he gestures for Patton to lead the way. 

“You want me to lead?”

Logan nods and Patton bites his lip. “O-kay.” Taking a deep breath, their moral persona closes his eyes and turns his back to the sun. He points east, away from the fading sunlight. “That way,” he says. “Virgil’s that way.”

How do you know? He wants to ask, but Logan does not know how to convey the question without the use of words. Regardless, they have no better plan so Logan sets off with the heading Morality has set.

It is slow going, with little proof of progress besides the swiftly fading footprints at their back. But they continue onwards until a faulty step sends Patton tumbling down a steep slope, Logan skidding down soon after him. They tumble to a halt, this time Patton’s face firmly implanted in the sand and Logan rubbing what will likely become a colorful bruise at the base of his tailbone. With a groan that somehow manages to produce sound while any intelligent language is rendered mute, Logan lets himself tip over flat on his back, head just a few inches from Patton’s. He looks over just as the moral side picks up his head and spits the sand from his mouth.

Huh, he’d never noticed Patton has slightly lighter hair than the rest of them. Or at least, he does in the mindscape. Slightly fluffier too... 

“Well, _ clearly _ I’m not needed here. You two look like you know _ exactly _what you’re doing.” 

Logic and Morality bolt upright at the sound of clear, condescending sarcasm. Above them, Deceit stands with one hand tucked under his arm and the other serving as a prop for his chin. Cradled in a bed of scales, the yellow serpent eye gleams. Logan meets the amused stare and glares.

“Deceit!” Patton scrambles up and plants his feet between Logan and Deceit. His knees are shaking and he makes a poor image of a protector, but Logic can’t help but admire the sheer amount of courage it must take to stand in the Dark side’s path. “Y-you stay right there, mister.” Across from them, Deceit looks moderately impressed, his human eyebrow arching.

Logan climbs to his feet and takes Morality by the shoulder. He means to pull Patton back, take the lead instead, but the fatherly persona pushes his arm away. 

“N-no, Logan!” Patton turns his head, but not enough that he can’t keep Deceit in his clear line of sight. “Logan, let me handle this.” He extends one arm out towards Deceit while backing up until Logan collides with his back. “What do you want?”

“What do _ I _ want?” Deceit lowers his arms and settles the flat of one gloved palm against his chest. His face speaks hurt but the emotion is not reflected in his heterochromatic eyes. “Is this not my home?” He takes one languid step after another, beginning a measured circle around the pair of Light sides that forces the two to turn. “ _ You _ came _ here. _So, if anything, I should be the one asking you what you want.” 

A long, forked tongue dances out from between Deceit’s lips and Logan can feel Morality shudder. He reaches out and takes the hand Patton has closest to him. He twines their fingers and grounds them, reminding Patton that he is not alone.

“W-we’re looking for the others. We got separated on our way here.”

“Oh?” Deceit pivots on a ninety degree angle to give Patton the full focus of both eyes. “Unfortunate. My realm is a vast and jealous mistress. She doesn’t like to give up her treasures.”

“_Well,_” Patton’s voice jumps an octave. “She sounds lovely. But I think we’ll just be on our way.” With a small tug, he tries to lead Logan away from the dark side.

“You _ could _run along,” says Deceit, and through the thick fabric of his glove, Logan can feel the hard pebbles of scale that coat Deceit’s hand. They circle his free wrist and lock him in place. “How far do you think you’ll get without a guide?”

Logan narrows his eyes on the deformed side. The human corner of Deceit’s lips twists up in a smirk and the serpent half cracks wide with glee. “Logan… you’re awfully generous with your speech today. Cat got your tongue?”

His tongue is very much still inside his mouth thank you very much, and Logan sticks it out for a moment just to prove it. Deceit tips his head back and laughs, releasing his hold on Logan’s wrist. 

“Oh my. What a fortuitous reaction to being in my realm.” He pulls the bowler hat from his head and uses it as a fan while his cheeks color with mirth. “I’ll have to tell the Duke about this. It ought to brighten the octopus’ spirits.”

“Leave him alone!” Logan almost falls as Patton yanks him away from Deceit. “E-either give him back his voice, or-or you can keep your mean words to yourself.”

“I meant no offense.” Deceit replaces his hat and lifts both hands, palms out. “And Logic’s voice will stay lost as long as he remains in my realm.”

“But-”

“What do you expect from me?” Deceit shrugs, ignoring Patton’s protest and figuratively ploughing ahead. “I’m sure Virgil just snaps his fingers and wills you all not to feel anxioussss when you’re in his room.” Deceit’s voice slips into a hiss near the end, and Logan has an aching suspicion that he is genuinely bothered. The theory is supported when Patton steps up beside him, mouth tight and sweat beading on his brow. He looks uncomfortable in a way Patton only does when his empathetic senses tell him something his moral code does not know how to reconcile. 

“Um… okay.” The tension in Patton drips away in measured doses. “Thanks for clarifying, but I think we’ll be going now.” 

They turn to leave, but before any reasonable progress can be made, Deceit strides ahead. “Don’t be silly. Follow me boys, I’ll show you the way.”

Logan supposes it doesn’t matter if they want to or not, Deceit is walking in the same direction Patton had chosen. At the very least if they stay behind him, then they should be able to break off if it seems like the dark side is leading them astray. Still.

He elbows Morality in the ribs, causing the other side to jump. 

“Hm?”

Logan lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers in his best impression of a spider. A wrinkle forms on Patton’s brow before it clicks. “Oh. Hey, Deceit.”

“Yes?” The seditious side turns without fully looking back or faltering in his stride.

“Do you… I mean- back before we came here.” Patton swallows and his adam’s apple bobs. “You tried to keep Roman and Logan from telling Thomas and I about something.” 

Deceit comes to a halt. “You mean the spider?”

Patton nods at first before realizing Deceit can’t see and verbalizing the sentiment. “Yes.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about it.”

Obviously. Logan can’t see why Deceit is dancing around the issue, playing up the pretense of offering a helping hand when he knows neither of them will fall for it. The only thing he can think of is that he is trying to come up with a conceivable lie, or buy time.

“That,” says Patton, “would be appreciated, yes. Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Deceit leads them over another arcing dune, and when they crest its peak both light sides stutter to a halt at the sight that awaits them. “I’ll be glad to explain.” 

At the base of the dune is what appears to be a wide valley, and at its center is sat a cracked, sunburst throne carved of stone, sitting upon a wide dais. But that is hardly the most eye-catching site. No, what draws Logan’s focus the most, and what has Patton cringing back against Logic’s chest in fear, is the great spider limb poised beyond the throne, reaching far into the sky.

“That…”

“Is one of the great limbs of the spider,” says Deceit, casting a superior look to the pair of light sides before snapping his fingers and disappearing in a fluttering gust of wind and sand. Logan blinks, and suddenly they can see Deceit seated far below upon his throne, waiting for them.

Logan takes Morality by the shoulders. Beneath his touch, he can feel Patton trembling. He wishes he could speak, try and talk Patton down from his fear, but the best he can do for the moment is to be present. He waits it out.

Slowly, Patton musters his courage. “I-It’s another leg. Logan, that’s another spider leg.”

That makes the fourth that Logan has seen. Something seems… different though, between this leg and the one that had been curled around their host. Or should he say, the one over Thomas had been different from the other three. This one, like the one in Roman’s room and in his, almost seems petrified. Immoble. 

Dead.

Logan frowns and adjusts the set of his glasses before taking Morality by the hand and leading him downwards. They approach Deceit, sitting with his legs crossed and chin propped on a closed fist over the arm of his throne. They near the dais, Logan meets the wandering gaze of the dark side’s serpent eye, and they stride past, heading straight for monumental limb. Behind them, Logan can hear Deceit silently chuckle.

“As you could probably infer Logic, that limb is one of eight that belong to the spider.” 

Logan takes this information in stride and reaches a hand out, setting his palm on the hard, cold surface of the limb. He can’t help but marvel at the sheer immensity and the ghost of power he can feel just from a simple touch. Beside him, Patton gags, looking a little green in his cheeks. Logan guides Morality to a seated position.

"At one point in time, the spider placed those limbs in each of our rooms to watch us," says Deceit. "And to a certain extent, manipulate us."

“W-what,” says Patton with his head tucked between his knees. “What is the s-spider? A n-night- a nightmare?”

No, Logan shakes his head. A nightmare could never even begin to grow into something like _ this. _

From upon his throne, Deceit cackles. “A nightmare? No, no, no, the spider could never be something so mundane as a nightmare.” Logan puts it together in the brief span of a moment it takes for Deceit to draw his next breath. The word none of them can say, the unknown threat lingering in the shadows, just outside of their perception. Vast, powerful, undeniably Dark. And watching, always watching. Logan stumbles away from the leg like it could lift itself up and impale him at any moment. He backpedals towards the dais, snatching Patton up as he goes.

He runs until his heels meet hard stone and the pair sprawl at Deceit’s feet, but Logan can’t look away from the great spider leg. He knows now, and a part of him -despite his devotion to the pursuit of knowledge- wishes he didn’t.

“The spider is a side,” says Deceit.

Not just a side. Logan swallows down the unfamiliar taste of fear and wishes Roman were here. He hopes that wherever he is, Thomas stays far, far away. Because the spider is not just a dark side.

It’s Paranoia.


	19. Chapter 19

Traveling in the wake of Anxiety’s power is not Roman’s preferred method of travel. It does not work in the same vein as summoning, where the core of their aspects are drawn towards a source like moths to a flame. Nor does it fill him with the exciting rush of free fall that accompanies rising up and sinking out of the different areas of the mindscape. No, being carried on the black winds of Virgil’s transportation powers is something far less benign.

It is like being caught in a riptide, or swept up by a typhoon. The ground is torn from beneath Roman’s feet and he can’t catch a breath through the screaming winds. All the while, a looming wall of black fills his eyes with darkness. It is horrible and terrifying and Roman doesn’t know how Virgil stands it. How any of the Dark sides can suffer to travel in such a way. For all that it lasts no more than a few seconds, it feels like hours may have passed in their suspended purgatory.

Creativity tightens his grip on Thomas’ hand with all the force he can muster and he dearly wishes he could see to reach out for Anxiety as well. The hand on his shoulder hardly feels secure, and it would give him some perception of control if he could just assure himself that Virgil would not slip away. Then comes a sensation he cannot describe, but it undeniably tells the prince that they are landing, and that Virgil’s feet are close to touching down on Deceit’s corner of Thomas’ mind. 

Roman lets his guard drop, and that is all the opening the wailing vortex needs to rip him away. It feels like somehow, in the breadth of an instant when Virgil has landed but the others have not, something long and winding and powerful wraps itself around him and pulls. Too solid to be the wind, but too amorphous to identify as anything of substance. The result is the same either way.

Virgil’s hand disappears from Roman’s shoulder and when the black whirlwind fades, instead of standing on solid -albeit shifting- ground he is falling through the sky.

“ROMAN!” Thomas’ hand is still gripped firmly in his, and Creativity tears his eyes away from a blooming sunset to see his host plummeting at his side, free arm held across his eyes to hide the sight of the approaching earth.

“Hold on!” Using the hand in his grip as leverage, Roman tugs Thomas in close and wraps the human tight in his arms. They roll through the air, Thomas cradled against Roman’s chest while the side clenches his eyes shut in preparation to take the hit against his back.

He’s not exactly sure what kind of damage a side like him can take in this sort of environment, but he does not relish the idea of finding out. So, when something takes a firm grip of the fabric at the back of his jacket and tugs their trajectory significantly more horizontal than lateral, his immediate reaction is more relieved than it is surprised.

They land rough, but not in a pain-inducing crater like Roman had expected. No, as Thomas rolls away, Roman finds himself half-suspended by the grip on his coat collar that he now recognizes as teeth. He is unceremoniously dropped, and a lush, voluminous swath of fur plays at the back of his head with a gentle thump.

“How many times does that make it I’ve saved your butt, Ro? Ten?”

He knows that voice. Roman’s mood immediately spikes as he recognizes a familiar presence. He spares a moment to reassure himself that Thomas is sitting up, spraying sand from between his lips, before twisting where he sits.

“Vi!”

A giant black fox, with a coat that shimmers purple in the sunlight strides into view, arching its sleek head to look down on the side. It’s eyes sparkle a mischievous emerald green and eight thick tails sway at its back. “Hey you.” The fox does not visibly speak, but the words are projected into the air, enough so for Thomas to hear and take note.

“Who’s that- what _ the heck_!” His host is on his feet, nearly slipping against the sand in his haste. “Roman, what _ is _that!” He points a shaking finger at the fox and Vi’s ears flatten against the back of his head. The fox’s lips curl and he hisses.

“I’m the one who saved you from a world of hurt, _ moron. _ ” One white paw comes down in front of Roman and Vi’s shoulders arch as the fox raises his hackles. “So, how about you cool it with the finger-pointing. _ Hm_?”

Thomas shrieks and jumps back, lowering his hands immediately. “I’m sorry.”

Roman bats the fox across the nose, successfully redirecting Vi’s glare on him. “Be nice. That’s my host.”

“_HIM? _” Vi’s eyes go comically wide as his giant head swivels between host and side. “But he’s an even bigger idiot than you!”

Roman climbs to his feet chuckling and batting the sand from his pant legs. Vi’s tails thrash against the ground in agitation and Creativity laughs, rubbing the fox between the ears. “You’ve met him for less than a minute.”

The fox huffs, snatching his head away and sitting back on his haunches. In doing so his head nearly reaches Roman’s standing height. “I only need a minute,” he says.

Slowly, trying desperately not to draw Vi’s attention, Thomas edges closer to Roman. He stays well behind the prince's shoulder as he clears his throat and says, “So…” He elbows Creativity between the shoulders and earns another growl from Vi. “I-uh, ahem,” Thomas clears his throat. “Introduce your-um… friend, Roman.”

One of Vi’s ears twitches, sending the white tuft at its tip flickering in the wind. “Yes, Roman. Introduce me.” Though lacking the facial muscles to produce complex expressions, Vi manages to look smug.

Roman clears his throat. “Thomas, I’d like you to meet one of the more fleshed out figments of your imagination. Vi.”

“Salutations.” Vi bobs his head. 

Thomas swallows and steps a bit closer. “Figment? Like a fantasy?” His host is beginning to look doubtful. “I thought we were supposed to avoid those.”

The fox scoffs, and with a flicker of aquamarine light against his eyes, Vi is encompassed by a ball of shimmering flame. When it dies down, it is not a fox that remains, but a human. “I’m not something so fleeting as a fantasy. Think of me more as one of Roman’s personal OCs.”

Roman sees Thomas’ double-take and frowns when his host starts to shoot glances between him and Vi. He takes a second look, just to see if the fox has changed anything about his appearance but no, the fox looks the same as the day Roman gave him human shape. The figment wears Thomas’ face, same as Roman and the other sides, although his is painted with black fox markings that shroud the eyes and give the cut of his cheekbones a sharper, more feline edge. Beneath the bold lines is skin unnaturally fair and clear, like porcelain.

Then of course there’s the black armor decorated with carved depictions of a fox and the ornate spear strapped across Vi’s back. Roman looks back at Thomas. “What?”

Thomas’s mouth opens and closes several times. “You… I don’t know what to say.” Thomas lifts both arms, palms up, and then lets them drop back down to his sides. “You made an original character. And it’s… Virgil as a fox?”

Vi’s head quirks to the side. “Who?”

“What?” says Roman.

Thomas gestures at Vi, a little hopelessly. “I mean, he looks just like him. His hair’s even purple.”

Vi peeks up through the obstructing curtain of his violet bangs and blows them out of the way with a puff of air. Roman shrugs.

“I don’t see it.”

The fox arches an eyebrow and rolls his eyes. “Your host is such a weirdo.” Vi turns to Roman and edges himself between Creativity and his host. At Thomas’ offended expression Roman lifts both hands in a shrug. “Roman, you come all the way to the wild imagination for the first time in ages and you don’t even take a minute to say hi?” Vi throws his arm over Roman’s shoulder and tugs him away from Thomas. “Rude. And then I have to chase you all the way out to _ this _place just to save you again?”

“Oh, don’t be a Debby Downer, Vi. I was busy!”

Vi smacks him on the back of the head. “There’s busy, and then there’s starting an epic quest without me. If a situation requires snatching you out of the sky while you’re plummeting to your doom… which category do you think it falls in?”

“...epic quest?”

“EPIC QUEST!” Vi steps away and throws his arms into the air. “I mean come on, man. I’ve been begging you to start another campaign with me for months, and you go off on a new quest with some rando?”

“He’s my _ host_!”

“Whatever!” Vi gestures to the spear on his back. “What kind of leader goes on a mission without his lancer?”

“Guys, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thomas says from somewhere behind them, from the sound of it kicking at the sand in boredom.

Vi glares over Roman’s shoulder and hisses. “Shut it, noob.” Then his glowing blue-green eyes shift to Roman. “So,” he crosses his arms and drums his fingers against the edge of his pauldron. “Care to tell me about this quest of yours?”

At last, familiar ground. Roman grins and the look sparks a light of mischief in Vi’s eyes. The fox leans in close. “We’re in search of a great beast,” says the prince.

Vi’s lips stretch in an unnaturally wide grin, exposing a set of delicate, curving fangs. “You’re monster hunting?” In the shadow cast by the fox on the sand, Vi’s eight unmanifested tails dance in excitement.

He knows he has Vi’s interest now and waggles an eyebrow. “We’re monster hunting. A foul spider that has been lurking in poor Thomas’ mind, to be precise.” He lays an arm across Vi’s slender shoulders and pulls the fox in close, whispering into his twitching ear. “I must free him from the creature’s insidious grip.”

“Ah, so he’s your damsel, then,” says Vi, nodding to Thomas.

“Eh,” Roman peeks over and sees his host glaring, but gives a helpless, one-armed shrug. “I guess?”

“Works for me.” Vi makes a sound that is between a bark and an excited yip and disappears in a flash of blue fox-fire. Once again when it fades it is the black fox standing at Roman’s side, head close to the height of Thomas’ chest. “Where to?”

“Well, we must find my other companions first. We were separated in the same storm that left us falling through the air.” Roman scritches the fox behind an ear and looks over to Thomas. “Shall we? Vi might not have as good a nose as Rudy, but he should be able to find Virgil and the others so long as he has something to track from.”

Thomas wanders closer, looking a little doubtful as Vi’s eyes follow him. “But we don’t have anything for him to get a scent from.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roman snatches Thomas’ wrist and pulls him closer.

“Hey!”

Vi leans his great fox head closer and sniffs at the human’s palm. The fox exhales in a warm puff. “Got it. There’s something that smells like the idiot but just a bit different coming from that way,” he tosses his head south-east.

“My name is Thomas.”

“I really don’t care.” The fox turns, tails flicking in Roman and Thomas’ direction before starting off at a steady, walking pace. “Let’s go.”

“So, we’re just… following the magical fox,” says Thomas, walking side by side with Roman. “Seems legit. This is what you do when we’re not making a video?”

Roman looks over to his host and frowns. “Thomas, I know you’ve watched enough anime to recognize a kitsune when you see one. And yes, sometimes Vi and I indulge in a little adventuring on my down time.”

“Just you two?” Thomas asks, eyebrow arching though Roman doesn’t quite know what for.

“Sometimes. But I’ve been quite busy helping with your channels lately so I created another figment for Vi to freely interact with while I’m gone.” He looks over to the fox and frowns. “I didn’t really think about it at first, but like he said, Vi’s one of my OCs. He sticks around while other figments and fantasies come and go.”

Thomas drops his voice to little more than a whisper. “He got lonely?”

“...Yeah.” It’s not something Roman likes to think about, inadvertently causing one of his creations pain. But he’d done his best in the aftermath to make it up to the fox. “So, I made him a companion. Hey, Vi!”

“Hm?” The fox casts a look over his shoulder without faltering in his stride.

“Where is Rudy anyway? He didn’t come with you?”

The fox makes a gagging sound and his tails flourish in agitation. “The stupid hound says he’s too busy _ ‘upholding the law and order of the wild imagination’ _to indulge in such childish things.” Blue fire lashes at the fox’s white paws. “My guess is he just doesn’t want the fantasies to see him fraternizing with a trickster.” The fox hisses into the air and bounds ahead several meters before slowing back to his previous pace. Definitively ending the conversation.

“Oh,” Roman mutters and he doesn’t look over to see the expression Thomas is giving him.

A hand pats his back. “You tried buddy.”

They walk behind Vi for some time, the fox occasionally dipping his head to sniff at the sand or raising it up to catch the wind. Above their heads, the sunset remains low in the sky, despite the hour definitely having turned. The result is a limbo of twilight that settles into their bones with exhaustion.

“How much farther, do you think?” asks Thomas, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“No idea,” says Roman. “I still don’t see any sign of the others.”

Thomas nods. “Do you think the rest of them managed to stay together?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure Patton and Logan hung on to each other tight, but I’m worried about Anxiety.”

“You think he lost hold?”

“Possibly.” Roman unfastens the top of his jacket to allow in more air. “I don’t know what happened, but you can be sure if Deceit had anything to do with it, he’ll be stalking our anxious bean the moment he’s alone.” The thought makes Roman want to cut into something with his sword. Anxiety shouldn’t be alone right now. Not when he’d just admitted to Roman about being part of a whole with the spider. And certainly not with the snake on the prowl.

Thomas says, “We’ll find him, Roman.”

“We’d better.”

“We’d find him faster if you two would stop gossiping like old ladies and focus on walking!” shouts Vi from up ahead. “And about your friends, it looks like most of them managed to stay together. But I’ll be honest, I’m not sure.”

The fox sits back and waits for the other two to catch up. When they do Vi tosses his head towards the south. “The trails diverge most here. One, it smells a little sour, goes directly south.” Vi shoots a look to Roman then turns east. “And another cluster goes this way. Strange, I recognize one of them.”

“You do?” Roman crouches beside the fox.

“Yeah.” Vi’s form flickers and it is his human body kneeling beside Creativity, one hand trailing through the sand at his feet. “Just a little bit ago, I was tracking something through the Dark Woods.”

“Vi!” Roman frowns at the figment. “I told you not to go too deep in there. Especially without me or Rudy.”

The fox pouts and turns away. “Whatever. I found your darker half along with someone else.”

A trickle of ice goes down Roman’s spine. “Who?” Surely not. Virgil would never-

Vi shrugs. “Some guy with a snake face.”

Behind them, Roman hears Thomas click his tongue. “Deceit.”

“Must be,” Roman agrees, letting out a his breath in a sigh. “What happened next? What did they talk about?”

“Don’t know.” Vi’s expression turns suspiciously innocent and the fox looks up into the air while his finger draws nonsense patterns in the sand. “I-uh. Might have gotten distracted.”

“You what?” says Thomas.

“Well there was this figment…”

Roman’s forehead falls into his palm. “Vi, you didn’t.”

“He actually wanted to play! I can’t even remember the last time Rudy willingly played chase with me.” Vi frowns. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I noticed when your presence suddenly got swept off and had to leave.” Vi’s human body flickers away and the fox’s ears flatten against his animalistic skull. “He’s probably faded by now.”

A sound like a low whine comes from the fox and Roman spares a moment to feel a pang of sympathy for his creation. He rubs a hand down the length of Vi’s spine. “I’m sorry.”

The fox sniffs. “S’fine. The point is, this Deceit person or whatever is definitely with two of your buddies.”

“Patton and Logan?” asks Thomas, a note of worry in his tone.

Roman stands to his feet. “Probably. Damn, that means Virgil’s off wandering the desert alone.”

“What do you want to do, boss?” asks Vi.

Roman looks between Vi and Thomas, torn. His immediate instinct is to rush off towards Logic and Morality, and get them away from the snake’s influence. But Virgil is… Virgil, and Roman can’t imagine what downward spiral Anxiety could be falling into in his own head. Thomas sticks his hands into his pockets and sighs. 

“It’s up to you, Roman. This is your area of expertise, not mine.”

While he appreciates the sentiment, this would actually be a time Roman would prefer not to make the executive decision. That being said, time could be of the essence so he doesn’t argue the point. “Fine. We’ll have to trust Virgil can take care of himself.” As long as Deceit is targeting Logic and Morality, at the very least that’s one less problem to worry about in regards to their dark side ally. “We go after the others.”

The fox nods. “Sounds good to me.” Vi gets to his feet and nudges Roman with his snout. “Hop on. We’ll get there faster if I carry you.”

Roman settles a hand on top of the fox's head. “Thanks, Vi,” and slings a leg over the fox just behind his shoulder blades. He turns to Thomas. “Get on.”

“Seriously?”

Vi snickers. “Got a better idea?”

Thomas frowns back but slides on behind Roman anyway, gripping Creativity around the waist. “I do not like you,” he mutters to the fox.

“Fine by me. I’m not one of your sides.” Then they’re off, Vi breaking into a loping stride that picks up speed at an impressive rate. Blue fire sparks against the sand as each paw touches down and before they know it, the dunes are passing them by like fleeting hills. 

Roman anchors himself in the scruff at the base of the fox’s neck and keeps his eyes trained forward, resisting the urge to look south. One problem at a time, he tells himself. One problem at a time.


	20. Chapter 20

About an hour into aimless wandering, Virgil gives up the faint hope that the others have simply drifted some close distance away. Voice hoarse from calling out the names of his host and fellow sides, he settles to a stop at the center of a wide valley, falling onto his rear end on arid, hard-packed dirt. The tattered shrubbery of the failed oasis he’d found chitters in the wind and on a nearby stone, a lone scorpion crawls its way from the encroaching sand to bask in the fading sun.

Its six golden legs make the smallest of clicks as it meanders its way in the otherwise silent desert, and Virgil marvels at the poise of its primed stinger. He wonders if Roman’s imagined manticore-chimera ever had such a thing. He wonders how the prince had fared against it. The scorpion reaches the top of the stone and rotates its body such that its head faces in Virgil’s direction. Anxiety’s lips curl up in a twisted, painful grin.

“What?” he asks.

The scorpion of course, does not respond. At most, its pincers open and close, as if in threat.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know how Roman adds in these little world-building details either.” 

The stinger twitches twice and the scorpion edges forward a step as Virgil spies the single, milky droplet of oozing poison hugging its pointed tip. In response, the spider feels his own poison begin to gather in the space above his fangs. One trained response reacting to another.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, buddy.” With nothing better to do, Virgil pulls one leg up against his chest and rests his chin on the curve of his knee. From his back sprouts a single spider limb, and he brings its pointed end near the scorpion. Iridescent purple, against flat gold. “Maybe pick on someone your own size.”

The scorpion retreats, but does not flee.

“Smart.” Virgil retracts his limb and lets it draw idly in the sand by his side. “Maybe you could tell me what I’m supposed to do?” He can’t even see the scorpion’s eyes to know if it is looking at him with dull incomprehension.

To some degree, he already knows the course ahead. Deceit will be waiting for him in his seat of power, he should begin his search anew there. With any luck the serpent will have a way to track the others. “But then again,” he turns his head so that it is his cheek resting on its prop and the world tilts to its side. “Why bother? It’s all pointless anyway, isn’t it?”

He shifts his stare up and away, to where a cluster of clouds obscures the fading sun, and leaves the desert in momentary darkness. Virgil’s eyes glow purple, staving off the shadows until the clouds pass. “What’s the use of all this struggle?”

The scorpion skitters down from its rock and begins the long trek across the stretch of packed earth between itself and Virgil. It makes it about half the distance before stopping, the shadow of a desert hawk passing overhead.

Virgil sighs. “I should have told them the truth when I had the chance.” 

When the airborne threat has gone, the scorpion continues forward until it comes to only a few scant centimeters from Virgil’s hand. The spider watches, but does not move. He wonders if the little creature has any idea of what it is approaching. If it can sense the truth behind the glamour Virgil has worn for so long, it feels like a second skin.

“How long can I keep these lies going before everything falls apart?”

It hadn’t always been this way. Virgil remembers, even if he doesn’t like to let himself recall, not so long ago when nothing left him floundering for control. Nothing surprised him. Everything, was permissible through his own design and he had held all the strings linking the great tapestry that was Thomas Sanders together. He had been immutable, powerful, insurmountable.

And now…

“Now I’m sitting on my ass in the desert, with sand where it should never be, and talking to an imaginary scorpion.”

The scorpion clicks its pincers and takes a tiny, miniscule step forwards.

“Don’t even think about it,” says Virgil. “I’ve killed beasts far larger than you. Ate some of them too.”

How was it? That at one time he hadn’t blinked at carving a bloody path to prominence through the other potentials who’d sought a place in the dark corners of Thomas’ mind and yet… and yet now the thought of losing what he had with the Light sides paralyzed him with fear. The name of the game was survival, it always had been. The spider understood that.

“But what if I don’t want to be the last one standing?”

Virgil wonders if Deceit noticed their less than graceful entrance into his realm. If the others had scattered so far that Virgil could not find them, or be found, then they could not have had a quiet landing. Surely, with the serpent expecting their arrival, he would have taken note, even if Virgil had opted not to land close to his seat of power.

The great limb, numb and still, in Deceit’s room is near the serpent’s throne. And even if Virgil had long since lost sensation in that limb, he feels no urge to invite an attack. Anxiety shivers as he recalls the blood-curdling agony when the limb around Thomas had been severed. The feeling of flesh and tendon being severed under the cut of burning steel that made up Creativity’s blade. He extends his eight limbs and curls them around himself.

Roman… of all of them, why did it have to be Roman?

Perhaps Deceit would track him down. Or find the others and bring them one by one back to the center of his realm. If Virgil could be sure of one thing, Deceit would do whatever he deemed necessary to further his own ends. It’s what the spider would do. It’s what the spider taught the serpent to do. It’s what they were all taught.

He just wished he knew what it was Deceit wanted from all of this.

“What do you think?” he asks the scorpion, who still seems to be considering whether or not to take his chances in stinging Anxiety. “What should I do?”

Idle and ignorant to his own ends, Virgil hovers the barbed end of one limb over the scorpion’s head. If it came a quick draw, tail against leg, he knows which would win. A small voice in his mind whispers do it, to the scorpion. I dare you. 

“What are you doing, Virgil?” he mutters to himself. Shaking his head, the spider digs his fingers into his hair, and tries desperately to fight the weight of overwhelming defeatism wrapping itself around him in a stranglehold. He wills his eyes to shine bright and menacing while claws prick at the skin of his scalp. “Get up you stupid, _ lazy-_!”

_ This truly is pathetic. _

Virgil’s posture jerks upright and he flies to his feet. Four of his limbs brandish themselves in a fighting display while the others curl themselves around Anxiety’s arms and legs. He turns on his heel. “Who's there.”

The wind kicks up a spray of sand that blows into the spider’s face, and when it dies, an empty hill awaits him. Anxiety scans the horizon, every muscle tense as he watches for signs of some malign presence. Nothing but a quiet clicking near his feet presents itself. He knows he heard that voice. He _knows _that voice, feared that voice. 

Virgil growls and bares his fangs down at the wandering scorpion. “Would you _ just beat it_!” He honestly doesn’t know why the stupid figment hasn’t disappeared already.

A low, huffing laughter echoes in the back of Virgil’s mind. _ Is this the legacy of the great spider? Talking to himself and playing in the sand? _

“_Show yourself_!”

_ A little late for that, little one. _

Little one. Virgil nearly chokes on his next inhale, and staggers back a step. He whips his head from side to side, frantic and desperate for a sign of some figment or fantasy or mirage to step forward and offer a physical threat. When none appear, he lets his limbs go limp against his back, but that does not stop his sudden trembling.

“You-you aren’t real.”

_ Oh? _

“You aren’t!” He must look a madman, shouting into the empty air. At long last the scorpion disappears, scuttling off into the sand without a backwards glance, and all at once the solitude truly settles in. Virgil forces himself to take long, deep breaths and tries to count. One… Two…

_ What is that? Some quaint little trick the Light sides taught you? _

Virgil bites down hard, fangs lacerating the skin of his lower lip and filling his mouth with blood. Red blooms on the sand between his feet. “You. Are not. Here.” He can't be.

_ So you keep saying. And yet, were it true, perhaps it would not bear repeating. _

With more effort than he expects, Virgil retracts his legs. They fold beneath his skin, hard exoskeleton scraping against soft, human skin as they go. He groans as the last spider limb disappears. They do not want to go, it spits in the face of every instinct to lower his guard before such a threat. The effort leaves him shaky, with sweat on his brow.

_ Oh, have I once again become a threat? And the last time we talked you seemed so self-assured of your superiority. _The voice prickles over his skin like phantom claws, threatening at every twitch to tear and rend.

Virgil presses the heel of his palm against his forehead and turns north-east. “Focus, Virgil.” He shakes his head and starts forward, setting a quick pace as he makes for the center of Deceit’s realm. He needs to find the others, Deceit, anyone. Anything to drown him out.

_ You disgust me. Running to those pathetic whelps like some Light side fantasy. _

“Shut up.” He keeps his eyes trained forward tries to focus on the sound of his feet sliding through the sand. Anything to block out the voice that reverberates like growls inside his head. “You’re just some stupid side-effect of Deceit’s realm. You’re not real.”

_ Lying has never been your forte, little one. You keep the serpent around for that. _

“_Don’t _ call me, little one.” Virgil snaps his head to the side but is careful to keep himself from looking back. As much as his mind tells himself that there will be nothing there, he cannot shake the fear that to look would invite some stray fantasy to fill the void. “I’m not your son, or your underling, or your little anything.”

_ No, _ he can imagine burning lupine eyes staring down at him with disgust. _ No, you have Morality for that now, don’t you? _

The spider comes to a halt and hisses. “_Leave Patton out of this_!”

_ Why so defensive? If I’m not real, then what threat could I possibly pose, hm? _ Virgil shakes his head, as if that will make the voice stop. He really wishes he had his headphones._ Or perhaps you’re rushing off hoping that your prince will save you from your demons. _

“_Say another word, and I swear-_”

_ You’ll what, Paranoia? Face it, you’ve already played your hand. _

The name pours down his spine like ice and Virgil’s knees nearly give out. He hasn’t heard the word spoken in so long. Two years of disguise, and before that, there had been none under the shroud of Dark who dared to utter it. Not without fear of drawing his focus. To hear it spoken so blatant and without hesitation, even in his own mind, catches him off-balance. 

“Don’t- don’t call me that.” He pulls the hood over his head. “I’m not-”

_ Not what? Do go on, Paranoia._

_ “Stop it!” _

_ Enough of your wretched moaning, spider! I did not foster your potential only to have it crumble under the weight of your cowardice against a single word! _

“Like you have _any_ say. I KILLED YOU!”

A heavy wave of malignancy bleeds from Anxiety’s every pore. It saturates the air, the wind kicks up around him, and in the sky, Virgil can see a gathering of clouds, heavy with rain, begin to form. The sunset is engulfed by the spreading darkness, and the desert grows cold under the anticipation of a rare storm. The crisp chill brings a biting clarity and the spider breathes it in as a drowning man would after having just broken surface. It helps him to ignore the growing knot of tension in his head.

Not in full control of his own responses, Virgil flexes the fingers of both hands, testing the length of his claws. He spies the nearby dunes for a flash of color, a lurking wolf. Nothing appears to grant him the release of catharsis.

_ Yes, you did. And now, _ Malice whispers in his mind, forever out of reach. _ I will always be a part of you. We all will. _

“_SHUT UP_!”

White light flashes, and the skies break. Rain begins to fall, first in droplets and then faster, until the downpour soaks the fabric of his hoodie and Virgil stands alone and wet.

_ Jealousy, Rage, Fear, Loneliness, you and your serpent fed upon us. Used us to bolster your power and now, all that remains of us is a ghost of an echo in your voice. The whispers in your head._

“_Stop it_.” Virgil stares down at his trembling hands. The pooling trickles of rainwater gathering in his palms like blood. He tries to force down the chorus of voices that claw their way up from his throat. It does not work. “_S-stop_.”

_ I’m disappointed in you, little one. This is not what I groomed you for. _

“You didn’t groom me for anything.” Virgil clenches his fists and remembers. He remembers why Malice had to go, and the singular truth gives him the strength to take another step. His head pounds as he does so. “We are meant to help Thomas, but you- all you ever wanted was to control him. Destroy what makes him who he is.”

_ I would have made him great. _

“No.” The waterlogged sand weighs heavily on Virgil’s feet, but he walks forward anyway. “You wouldn’t. You were nothing but a disease, a corruption.”

_ If I am, then so are you. You and I, we aren’t like the others, Paranoia. _

“My name is Virgil.” He is Anxiety. The wall to hold back the Dark from the host he never knew he could admire so deeply. To protect the Light sides he never knew he could love like family.

_ What you are, is a fool. And if you, the Heir of Darkness, allow yourself to wither and fade, then you can be sure another will take up the mantle. _

The pressure builds behind Anxiety’s eyes, and Virgil grasps the side of his head against splitting pain. “What-what are you doing?” All at once the weight of his rain-soaked clothes drags him down and Virgil collapses, curling on his side as the sudden headache intensifies. 

_ Do not mewl. You did this to yourself. _

Above, the steady, emanating stream of power the spider had been releasing into the air ceases. Cut short as Virgil’s reserves fall empty, the storm breaks. The cold grit of sand bites into the skin of his cheek and he can feel it cling to his skin, his clothes, his hair. A black void hovers at the corners of his vision.

“...Malice?” There is no answer, the ghost in his mind silent in the face of near total exhaustion. “...someone?” Anyone?

I’m scared, he realizes, as the world shrinks to faded pinpricks in a sea of darkness. All but blind, he forces his arm out, fingers clawing uselessly at the sand. He wants to release his limbs, feel the flow of energy return to him as it did in the forest. But he lacks the energy to do even that much. He’s trapped.

Please, he thinks. Someone help me.

  
  
  


A hand takes his outstretched palm. 

“Virgil!” He knows that voice. “Hold on! You complete moron, don’t you dare fade on me now!” An arm wraps itself around his waist and all at once Virgil is hauled off the ground and into a pair of sturdy arms.

More hands pet at his face and he can feel the ghost of fingers brushing sand from his cheeks. “Is he going to be okay?”

The voices trade more words but he cannot make them out. He wishes he could at least hear if he was going to make it or not. That would have been nice. But hey? At least he’d told off Malice one last time… right? Almost like a hero moment.

If the spider dies, so be it. This at least, is fine. Virgil uses the last vestiges of his strength to let his head fall against the shoulder of his rescuer and breathe in that familiar scent. It was a consolation, if only a small one, that he wouldn’t fade alone.


	21. Chapter 21

He doesn’t blink when Virgil fails to immediately appear in his seat of power, following on the heels of Logic and Morality. Nor does he question as the hour draws late and there is no sign of the spider’s presence growing close over the horizon. Deceit has kept the two more manageable Light sides close and under scrutiny while Creativity roams free. He expects, if there has been any delay, it is due to Virgil’s tracking of the prince.

It is not until the southern skies grow dark and the first peal of thunder rolls across his realm that the serpent’s scales begin to itch. Deceit grips the arms of his throne, nails tearing at ragged stone. The circling, amethyst clouds all but sign Virgil’s name across the sky and there is no way that can harken anything good.

To expend that level of influence across the imagination, in Deceit’s realm of all places, either the spider has entered combat, or Virgil is trying to kill himself doing something stupid.

“Stay here.” He spares the two Light sides a sidelong glance as he gets to his feet. Logan sits on the lowest step of the dais, chin trapped between thumb and forefinger as he stares at the great spider limb, deep in thought, meanwhile Patton fails to build castles in the sand.

Morality picks his head up. “Where are you going?”

The serpent says, “Looks like Virgil might have gotten himself a wee bit in over his head.” The idiot.

“What? What do you mean?” Their moral center climbs to his feet, tapping Logan on the shoulder as he goes. “Is Virgil okay?”

Deceit groans and does not try to hide his rolling eyes. “He _ won’t _be, as long as I can get to him soon.” He rolls his shoulders, preparing to take a larger form, when a hand grips his bicep. Logan pulls ahead, frowning.

“Then we're coming too,” says Morality.

Deceit glares at Logic through the lenses of the Light side’s glasses But the hiss he gives is for both of them. “_No_.”

“He’s one of us,” Morality says, standing firm behind Logic’s shoulder.

“He’s a Dark side,” says Deceit, switching targets to narrow his eyes on Patton. He’s mine, he thinks.

Logan tugs on the serpent’s arm, grip tightening. “Like I said,” says Patton. “He’s one of us.”

There really isn’t time to argue. “Fine,” says Deceit, pulling himself free of the Light side’s hold. “Let’s go.” The swirling vortex has only grown larger and darker during their discourse, and spiderwebs of lightning have begun to split the heavens. 

He does not transform. If the Light sides are going to accompany him, best to take a more direct route and transport them as close to the storm as possible. Deceit offers the pair each a gloved hand. “Well then,” he waits, human eyebrow arched in expectation.

“You want us to… teleport?” says Patton, fidgeting with his hoodie. “That didn’t go so well last time.”

And then there’s that. Deceit doesn’t know what happened that could have split Virgil and the others apart. It couldn’t have been a matter of carrying capacity, he had done the same when he’d taken them to his mindscape courtroom. No, something happened, or was made to happen.

“You take me for an amatuer?” Fully cognizant of the two distinct shades of scarlet Patton and Logan’s faces take up, Deceit reaches forward and takes Morality by the wrist. He tugs the fatherly persona into his arm and then reaches out for Logan. “Coming, Logic?” 

He hopes the careful uptilt to his chin hides the quickly simmering impatience brewing beneath. Deceit takes in Logic’s sour expression and wiggles his gloved fingers.

The instant their hands meet, Deceit throws them all into the void. Riding the blazing wave of sand to the storm’s edge. They appear in a flourish, Logic and Morality stumbling as their feet meet sand. Ahead, they stare into a dark and turbulent squall. Patton’s hand goes to his mouth. “V-Virgil’s in there?”

“Indubitably.” And likely right in the middle. Unfortunately for them, when it comes to the spider, there is no eye of the storm. 

With a small measure of reluctance Deceit dematerializes his hat and pulls the gloves from his hand. He flexes his scale-coated fingers and catches the brief look of shock that passes over Logic’s face. “You’ll catch flies in that mouth,” he says, tapping the teacher’s loose jaw shut with a finger to the chin.

He tosses his overcoat and gloves at Patton’s head. “Hold on to that for me, will you.” There is a level of self-conscious apprehension that accompanies revealing so much of his serpentine skin, but he endures it. At the very least the discomfort will help lead him to the spider.

Logan’s eyes burn holes in the back of Deceit’s pebbled neck as Patton pulls the black fabric from his head. “You’re going alone?” The father stares up at him with wide, brown eyes. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

Deceit quirks his neck and flicks his tongue out to taste the rainstorm in the air and the electricity hovering in the clouds. He casts an imperious look with his serpent eye down at their moral compass, letting his tongue linger for a moment to see the way it makes Patton shudder. “You’re in the Dark side now, Patton. Stakes are a bit higher here.”

He steps forward, prepared to enter the storm when Patton catches his hand. The serpent goes stiff, unused to anyone but the spider ever willingly touching his bare flesh. “Take me with you,” he says.

“What?” Deceit recoils. “Not happening.”

Logan pulls Patton away, looking like he is ready to tell the Light side off, but nothing comes of it. And for a brief moment Deceit mourns the fact that his realm has left Logic mute. Morality tugs himself away and steps in front of Deceit. He squares his shoulders and says, “Virgil might be hurt or afraid or something. I’m not leaving my child out there alone.”

Without really realizing it, Deceit bares his fangs and sneers. “I get it. You don’t trusssst me.”

Lips twisted in a pout, Patton keeps aggressive eye contact with Deceit as he unknots the hoodie from his shoulders and pulls it on. There is a level of severity in Morality’s eyes that looks out of place as he pulls the cat-eared hood over his head. “That’s not it at all, pouty-head.” He pokes Deceit in the chest through his loose-fitting yellow t-shirt. “We’re using the buddy system.”

He holds eye contact for a moment, waiting for the Light side to come to his senses, but he only manages to hold out for a few seconds longer. Virgil may not have time for them to argue. “...Sssson of a-”

“Language.”

“_Don’t_.” Deceit hisses into the air before crouching, taking Morality around the waist, and hauling the Light side over his shoulder. “Hold on. This’ll get bumpy.” He takes off without further delay, sparing a glance over his open shoulder to glare a warning for Logan to stay put. When he sees the teacher bend over to collect Deceit’s abandoned clothes, he turns forward. They enter the barrage.

The rain crashes down on them like a hurricane, pelting the sides from head to toe. He can feel Patton squirming, whimpering as he takes icy buckets of rainwater to his back and head, but there is nothing to be done for it. Deceit grunts and forces himself to move a little faster. “Sssshut up and hang on, just a little longer.” He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to try and make this easier on the Light side, but he doesn’t have time to wonder. That he is doing it for the sake of the spider, will have to suffice.

They crest a sloughing dune and slide their way down, the serpent wrapping both his arms around Morality as they collect a layer of mud and grit on the downslope. The ground meets them hard and fast, sending both sprawling into a shallow pool of water and mud. The clouds crackle and through the pounding drops, Deceit can feel a static in the air. “_Shit_.” He dives over Patton and shields both their heads, cringing as light flashes and the boom of thunder nearly bursts their ears.

Deceit hunkers down, trying to ignore the smell of ozone curling in his lungs. He huddles over a trembling Morality and waits. Time passes, something in the air seems to change, and before he knows it, the growling in the sky comes to an abrupt end. The rain lessens, and then all at once it fades as if nothing had happened. Storm clouds part for the sunset of Deceit’s realm to retake prominence above their heads. 

The serpent rolls over onto his back with a wet squelch, relieved, and spares a moment to bemoan the mud and sand that is soaking into his hair.

“What happened, Virgil?” he huffs into the air before peeking over to his side. Morality is still curled on his knees, back bowed and hands clapped over his ears through his cat hoodie. Deceit flips himself back over and sets a clawed hand on the father’s shoulder. “Come on,” he pulls the other side to his feet. “The storm’s over and we’re almost there. Have a breakdown on your own time.”

Patton nods through a whimper and before the serpent can pull his hand away, he finds it clasped tight in Morality’s grip. Deceit sighs, he doubts he’ll be getting that back anytime soon. With the environment significantly less hostile, they make it over the next rise and spy a flash of sodden purple near the bottom. Deceit’s breathing cuts to a halt, Morality’s stalling not far behind.

“Oh no.” It is the first word the Light side has spoken, and Patton drags Deceit by the hand down the crest. “Anxiety? ANXIETY!” Patton trips on a patch of hard-packed mud and stumbles, leaving Deceit to make it to the bottom and see the spider collapsed on the ground, face half-buried in the earth, and one hand stretched out and curled into the sand. The shadows around the spider’s eyes have swarmed to nearly encompass the top half of his face like a domino mask, and he looks pale as death.

The serpent holds in a wail.

“Virgil!” he grasps the outstretched hand in his and all but crushes it in his grip. “Hold on!” Deceit barely holds back his claws from sinking into the spider’s flesh when there is not even a twitch in response. The serpent grits his teeth. “You complete _ moron_, don’t you dare fade on me now!” He scoops Virgil up and out of the sand, slinging his right arm under the spider’s knees as the Dark side collapses against his chest.

“Deceit!” Patton scrambles up not long after, ineffectually wiping smears of mud and sand from his face. Morality goes up to Virgil and cradles the spider’s cheeks in his hands. “Is he going to be okay?”

It is such a strange sight that Deceit is momentarily struck dumb. It does not follow, in the system of behavior the serpent has chartered, that in any situation the looming shadow of the Dark side would need the tending of _ Morality _of all Light sides. And yet, he watches the fatherly persona coo and fuss, holding the back of one hand against Virgil’s brow and the other against own, as if it were only natural.

He does not understand. 

“..-ceit. Deceit!”

The serpent blinks. “What?”

“Do you think you could teleport us back to your place while carrying Virgil? If not, you should go first and Logan and I will catch up.” Patton says all this while barely casting a look in the serpent’s direction. He is instead too busy squirming his way out of his hoodie. The soggy mess of fabric looks to be of little use until Morality snaps it in the wind and wills it clean. “There we go,” he tucks it around Virgil as much as he can while the Dark side is still cradled against Deceit’s chest.

“I… I can carry you.”

“Really?” Patton’s head snaps up with a smile so bright Deceit almost wants to take a step back. He averts his eyes, hiding his serpent half under the guise of turning to take a closer look at Virgil’s unconscious form.

“I already said yessss, just grab on.”

Morality doesn’t need to be told twice and giddily skips forward to take hold of the fabric at the hem of Deceit’s t-shirt. “Ready.”

“_Wonderful._” Deceit wills them back to Logan. He does not give Logic time to put together everything that’s happened, instead whisking them off yet again the moment he and Morality’s hands brush. The result is the Light sides once again sprawling when they arrive back on the steps of Deceit’s throne.

A tent composed of pale tarp manifests itself with a twist of the serpent’s will and he makes for it with sure strides. If the other two follow, he does not care to note it, instead focusing his every spare brain cell on counting the shallow puffs of air Virgil releases against his collarbone with each breath. He enters the tent and lowers the spider down on its singular bed, careful to settle the other side gently, one hand cushioning the nape of Virgil’s neck. Only when he is fully recumbent does Deceit pull back his hand, tracing the length of scaled fingers along the spider’s cheek.

“How is he?” asks Patton, who wriggles his way to Anxiety’s bedside to better settle his hoodie over him like a blanket. 

Deceit trains his serpent eye on the spider and searches desperately for anything that sparks a knot of fear, for the nervous discourse that normally rides in Virgil’s wake. He gets little more than a prickle of gooseflesh down the human side of his neck and shakes his head. “Not good.”

Patton looks up at him with utmost distraught. Deceit’s not sure why Morality would look to him for hope, but he does not appreciate it. Still… he lays a hand on Patton’s shoulder and edges him aside. “I'll take care of this,” says the serpent.

“I can help-”

“No.” 

Before Morality can offer more protest, the fabric of the tent flutters and both sides cut their focus to see Logan enter. Logic spares a look at each of them and then a lingering gaze to Virgil. Something softens behind the teacher’s glasses as he looks upon the spider, but it hardens back up when his focus shifts to Deceit. The serpent’s hackles rise, but Logic only dips his head in a nod.

“Logan?” Patton stands to his feet and Logan walks over and takes his hand. He tips his head back outside the tent. “We need to leave?” asks Patton. 

Another nod.

“But, Virgil…”

Logan turns his focus once again to Deceit. The serpent huffs. “Let me handle this. There are some things only Dark sides can do for one another.”

Patton still looks uneasy, but at this point, Deceit knows it is fear for Virgil and not of him. “Fine.” Morality gives Virgil’s hand a squeeze and then goes to stand beside Logan. “Take care of him. Okay, Dee?”

Deceit almost chokes as the two Light sides leave the tent. He looks down at Virgil. “Did… did Morality just call me, Dee?” There is no response from the spider except the small but relieving rise and fall of his chest. Not that Deceit had really expected any. He waits a moment after they have been left alone before kneeling at Virgil’s side.

“The things I do for you,” he says, laying his mud-caked palm against the spider’s cheek. The cool sweep of his pebbled thumb matches the chill of Virgil’s cheekbone. “For the record dear, you’re not allowed to get mad about this later.” Deceit snaps his fingers and conjures an empty glass on a bedside table not far away. Taking it in one hand, he then guides Virgil mouth open with a finger to the spider’s chin. The action exposes the subtle length of Virgil’s fangs.

Pressing the rim of the cup beneath the elongated canine, Deceit shifts to press along the gumline above the tooth until a pale, deceptively clear liquid begins to drip from its pointed crown. The venom collects in the cup for a few seconds until the serpent pulls it away. He swirls the glass and grimaces. “Bottom’s up,” he says and swallows the contents in a single gulp. The serpent shudders. 

Virgil’s poison acts quickly. He can feel it burn as it passes down his throat and seconds later, the tips of his fingers start to go numb. The spider’s venom is far more potent than the serpent’s, and he can feel it blazing through the protection of his own. “For the love of-” Deceit buries his fangs into the meat of his arm, sinking his teeth deep and chewing until blood begins to gush. 

He pulls back and sets the bleeding wound over the mouth of the cup, watching through clouded vision as bright red ichor pools. When the glass reaches about quarter volume, he kneels back at the spider’s side and tips its contents into Virgil’s mouth. When the glass is once again empty, and the spider’s lips painted red, Deceit collapses to sit with his back against the frame of the bed, assured that the spider will endure. He conjures a bandage around his forearm and pinches the bridge of his nose.

It takes some time, with serious focus allotted to fighting the effects of Virgil’s poison, but as the minutes pass, Deceit can feel the spider’s venom slowly begin to burn itself out, leaving the serpent loose-limbed and shivering. He passes a hand through his matted, mud-soaked hair. “Let’s not do that again,” he mutters mostly to himself.

His vision is still a little blurry, and Deceit blames this for why he is slow to react when someone enters the tent. He assumes Patton or Logan, but when hands grasp his shoulders and haul him away from Virgil’s bedside, he realizes a little late that he is sorely mistaken. The serpent is thrown against the metal post that props up one corner of the tent and is held there by a forearm pressed against his sternum. 

Acting on instinct, the serpent hisses, preparing to shift forms and attack the intruder when something sharp and pointed is pressed against his midsection. Deceit blinks and recognizes the face twisted in fury.

“Roman.”

The prince’s looks like he is barely keeping a cap on his anger. And when he speaks, his voice is tight and trembling. “_What did you do_?”


	22. Chapter 22

“Vi! How much farther?” 

Roman can feel the fox’s sides heaving with effort as he carries them across the desert, the rasping wheezes of his breathing growing more labored by the minute. He buries his hands deeper in the fox’s ruff and grits his teeth against the sting of remorse. The figment is pushing himself far more than Roman would every normally ask, but there is simply no other choice.

The fox pants and blue fire licks the sides of his cheeks. “I’m going… as fast as… I can.”

“Dude… your cat is sooo fluffy.”

The hands around Roman’s torso drift away and the prince flings an arm back to snatch his host’s wandering wrist. “Thomas!” he shouts. “Do _ not _let go!”

“Huh?” Roman risks a look over his shoulder to see Thomas slouching where he sits. The hand not currently trapped in Creativity’s grip reaches out, swaying wildly in its attempt to grasp one of Vi’s flickering tails. “But Roman-Roman… _ tails_.”

“Ro… control your host.” One of Vi’s ears twitches, and on his next bound the fox hikes up his rear half, forcing Thomas to slide forward and into Roman.

A nose plants itself between Roman’s shoulder blades. “_Ow_,” says Thomas, voice muffled in the fabric of the prince’s jacket.

“What’s wrong with him?” Blue eyes burn themselves into Roman. “He’s being even… weirder, than before.”

Thomas’ arms flop over Roman’s shoulders and his nose stays planted in his clothes. “Mmm, you smell like cinnamon.”

“Thomas, I need you to hold on to me.”

“Kay.” 

The arms slip down and once again circle his waist. Once he is relatively sure that his host won’t slide off Vi’s back on a moment’s notice, Roman turns his focus back ahead. “I think… I think something might have happened to Anxiety.”

“That Virgil guy you’re always talking about?” Vi pauses for a moment at the base of a valley before springing up and over the next rising dune. The wind catches against Roman’s face and if wider circumstances weren’t as dire, he would have reveled in the sensation. 

“Yes,” the two humanoid beings jerk forward as they come down from the parabolic flight. “The last time Thomas was like this, Anxiety had cut himself off from him completely.”

The fox manages a huff, somehow through his panting. “Seems more like he’s drunk to me.”

“Well,” Roman shrugs. “Lack of inhibitions, I guess. The point is, we must reunite with the others and correct whatever foul scheme of Deceit’s that has caused Thomas to act as such.”

“... No arguments here.” 

They drift back into silence, Thomas too busy humming to himself and Vi on channeling his energy into speed to hold a proper conversation. Roman keeps his eyes trained on the east horizon. They’d lost significant time when a storm had brewed in the south but, as the tempest had dispersed and Vi reported that all four of the scents he’d identified were converging in a single location, at the very least Roman no longer had to fear choosing one of his friends over the others.

That being said... now all three of the others were in the hands of Deceit.

“Almost there… just over the next rise.” Vi sounds relieved and Roman cannot help but share the sentiment. The fire is beginning to dwindle at the fox’s paws and if the situation ahead of them turns into a fight, Roman would much prefer Vi be in shape to have his back. They bound over the next hill and the prince catches his first glimpse of the center of Deceit’s realm. That, and the skyscraping limb that arcs into the clouds like some nightmarish beanstalk.

“Woah,” Vi skitters to a halt at the top of the dune, sand spraying in his wake and vulpine head tipped up to try and spy the body that must connect somewhere to the limb. “Roman, what is that?” Despite obvious fatigue, Vi hunches ever so slightly into a stalking posture, hackles rising between Roman’s fingers.

Roman shakes his head. “I wish I knew.”

“Oh hey, guys look!” Thomas taps Roman’s shoulder with one hand while the other points down towards the valley beneath them. “I think I see the others.” Thomas waves and from far below, Roman can see someone wave back.

Roman squints. “I think that’s Patton and Logan. Vi, get us down there.”

“Got it boss.”

The trip down is short, half comprised of careful bounds by the fox and the other half, controlled slides down the unsteady surface of sand. As they make it to the base Roman leaps from Vi’s shoulders, breaking into a jog to meet up with the others while Thomas dismounts at a much more relaxed pace, sparing time to let out an appreciative whistle as he finally takes note of the spider limb taking up a not insignificant portion of the skyline.

“Patton! Four-eyes!” 

“Roman!” Logan does little more than glance over from where he is furiously scribbling figures in the sand near the great limb while Patton dead sprints into the prince’s arms. “Roman, I’m so glad you’re here!” He has an armful of vibrating Morality sooner than he can figure out what to do with it. “Is Thomas with you?”

He pulls Patton away and gestures to where their host is wandering up beside Logan. Vi is padding along not far behind, keeping careful watch while also getting his own view of the monolith. “Fear not, Patton,” says Roman. “I, our valiant protector, have kept our host safe.” He squares his shoulders and gives the other Light side his best grin while trying to hide a cursory scan of the area. “Say, where’s Virgil? Is he not here too?”

The relief in Patton’s eyes dims a little and he fingers the fabric of his polo where his hoodie would normally rest. Roman gets a sick feeling in his stomach. “Patton?”

“He’s going to be okay, but…” the dad persona looks to the tent erected a short distance away from what appears to be a stone throne. “Something happened while we were all separated. Deceit is taking care of him.”

“Deceit’s _ what_!” He doesn’t mean to shove Patton out of the way, and he feels a sting of guilt that is long and piercing when their heart stumbles and falls to the ground, but he doesn’t let it cause him to linger. “Vi, watch the others!” he calls behind his shoulder while making a break for the tent. The sword is free of its sheath and in his hand before the first touch of fabric meets his fingertips and he steps inside.

What he sees is not easily interpreted on first viewing. Virgil resting on his back beneath Patton’s cat hoodie with mud and sand caked down his sides and Deceit not looking much better and shed of all his normal layers of clothing. That said, he sees the blackened shadows crowding around Anxiety’s eyes and the red blood dribbling from the corner of his lips and Roman sees red.

The serpent puts up surprisingly little fight as Roman takes him and throws him against the nearest hard surface he can find. The prince pins the Dark side against a metal post and fights the urge to impale the slippery villain right then and there. 

Deceit blinks, almost like he is coming out of a haze, hisses, and peers down his nose at the prince. “Roman.”

There is no hint of satisfaction or regret in his voice. No knowing superiority or sly conspiracy. Roman cannot read the expression on the serpent’s face past instinctual hostility and it makes him even more furious. “_What did you do_?”

A scaled hand wraps around the blade of his sword and Deceit’s expression twists in discomfort. “Go ahead, do it,” the serpent dares him through clenched teeth. “I’m _ sure _our little storm cloud will appreciate you sssstabbing the side who saved his life.”

“What?”

The tent flap snaps again, this time admitting Patton in a mad flurry. “Roman! Roman, stop!” Morality pulls on the prince’s shoulder with one hand while the other pushes down on his sword arm. “He’s okay.”

Deceit looks just as confused as Roman when the smaller side gets between the two and presses a hand against each of their chests. “Patton-”

“No. Fighting.” Morality’s lips thin into a line of disapproval and he shoots looks of reproof at both sides. If a more intensive lecture awaits them, something that by the looks of it they both dread, it is held at bay by the rustling of fabric.

“Ugh- Patton? Is that you?” The low groan from the opposite side of the tent draws the attention of all three sides and they turn their heads to where Virgil is quietly sitting up, hand pressed to his brow. “What- what happened?” Out of some unknown instinct Anxiety licks his lips, and his eyes blaze purple as he laps up the red blood painted across his mouth. The eyeshadow shrinks back to its normal place around Virgil’s eyes, but in exchange his face takes on a greenish tinge.

Deceit presses against the hand Patton still has planted on his chest to lean a little closer in Anxiety’s direction. “Virgil?” has asks, human eyebrow furrowed in some simulacra of concern. Roman, for one, doesn’t buy it. 

“Anxiety, you look ill.”

“Kiddo?” Patton scurries away from the two other sides and makes it to Virgil’s bedside in time to hold back Anxiety’s bangs when he turns over and releases the contents of his stomach. “Oh, buddy… It’s okay, let it out.” Virgil says nothing, barely taking a breath between the heaving contractions of his stomach and the boluses of red-tinged bile that evacuate from his mouth to the sandy floor.

When the fit ends, Anxiety spits the remnants of sick that remain in his mouth out in a wet glob and gasps. He touches the side of his cheek, where a mostly dried trickle of blood still clings and pulls back red fingertips. Virgil’s expression twists in distress. “Oh no. No, no, no.”

Patton rubs his hand up and down the Dark side’s back. “Hey, you okay?”

“Virgil?” By this point Roman has all but forgotten Deceit at his side, instead surrendering his focus to the frightened purple eyes that shift in his direction. The gaze goes to his sword and Roman is quick to sheath it when he sees the shoulders beneath Virgil’s hoodie go stiff with unease. “Virgil, are you alright?”

Anxiety meets Roman’s eyes and then Patton’s, a look of beseeching bleeding through his mask of panic. He asks, in a small voice, “What did I do?”

“Do? You didn’t do anything, Virgil.”

“No- I… _Deceit_?” Virgil’s head whips around in dread until he finds the serpent himself edging around Roman’s shoulder.

“In the flesh, my dear.”

Roman’s eye twitches. 

Virgil can’t seem to decide what to focus on. The blood on his hands or the snake in their midst. When at last he seems to come to a consensus, Roman is both shocked and cautiously satisfied when Anxiety storms across the tent and punches the Dark side in the face. He will admit however, to enjoying the crunch that follows. Hands fly up to cradle a gushing nose.

“_THE HECK_!”

Anxiety seethes. “You absolute, _ MORON_!”

The shift in Anxiety’s voice to a reverberating chorus is enough for Roman to know the lashing out is done more out of concern than anger. But that doesn’t stop Patton’s hands from pressing against his mouth in worry or Deceit staring back over his broken nose in betrayal.

“What was _ that _for!” the serpent snaps.

“Virgil, that wasn’t very nice,” says Patton.

Roman disagrees. “I dunno, he could’ve hit harder.”

“_Ro_man!”

The prince’s hands fly up. “Sorry.” He pretends not to notice the sidelong glare Deceit sends him at the obvious lie.

Of course, Virgil ignores them all as he stands, body trembling, and glares at Deceit. His eyes still glow an unearthly purple and behind him, his shadow seems to swell, engulfing the back of the tent in darkness and transforming itself into something Roman can’t quite distinguish. “I could have _ killed you_,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Deceit glares and snaps his fingers, willing his crooked nose back into shape. “I had it under control,” he says. “Unlike you.”

_ “Excuse me_?”

Roman is getting the distinct impression that he and Patton have been forgotten. Deceit steps into Virgil’s space, crowding around him with little more than a few scant inches between. The prince would step in, but Anxiety doesn’t even flinch. If anything, despite being disadvantaged in height, Virgil’s presence seems to more than compensate. Anxiety takes the yellow fabric in front of Deceit’s shirt into his fist. 

Deceit’s human eye narrows. “Care to explain what the hell you were thinking conjuring that storm back there?” he asks, pulling Virgil’s hand away by the wrist. “You were barely more than an empty husk when I found you.”

“... It was that bad?” For the first time since engaging, Virgil looks remorseful.

Deceit releases his breath in a sigh and brushes the purple-tinged bangs from Anxiety’s face. “I haven’t been scared in a long time, Virgil. I don’t appreciate the reminder of what that feels like.”

“I guess- I guess I should say thank you, then. For helping me.”

The serpent crosses his arms and smirks. “You probably should.”

Virgil’s lips twist in a pout. “Well, if you’re going to be a smug asshole about it…”

“Okay, can I interrupt for a second, please? Great, thanks.” Roman doesn’t think he can stomach watching much more. The Dark sides both jump at the sudden interruption and back away to a more appropriate distance from one another. Good, the prince thinks. “Virgil, are you alright?”

“Um- I… I think so?” Anxiety pats himself down and with a sweep of his hand and a passing cluster of black clouds the sand and mud are willed from his clothes.

“Excellent, then if we're done staring at each other intensely, you need to see Thomas. He’s gone high as a weather balloon again.”

“Oh?” Deceit quirks his head and his lips stretch wide in a grin. “Is that what happens when Virgil’s influence is diminished? How… _ un_interesting.”

Roman puts his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Don’t get any funny ideas, serpent.”

“Calm down, Princey.” Virgil steps behind him and flicks the prince on the back of the head. “He’s messing with you.” With a tug to the crook of his elbow, Anxiety pulls Roman outside the tent and into the desert sun. Virgil flinches at the sudden view of the blazing sunset and uses his free hand to shade his eyes. “Where’s Thomas?”

“Virgil!” Speak of the devil, their host waves from where he is standing beside Logan at the base of the giant spider limb. Vi is there too, sniffing at the arachnid appendage and pacing around its circumference. Their host shouts, “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Virgil throws a thumbs up in their host’s direction. “You good, pal? Roman said you were all loopy.”

“Are you feeling like yourself again, kiddo?” asks Patton, who comes up from behind them and then continues forward, skipping to Logic’s side. Roman and Virgil follow in his stride, Deceit bringing up the rear. Thomas throws his hands in his jean pockets and shrugs, a bit sheepish.

“Feeling good, Pat. Don’t worry.” 

“‘Bout time,” Vi mutters, glancing up from his study of the spider limb to throw a look in Roman’s direction. “Don’t know how much more stupid I could take.” 

Thomas rounds on the fox, offended. “Ugh…” 

“Now, no need to be rude,” says Patton who is wringing his hands like he is desperately trying to control the urge the scritch Vi behind the ears. “Um… what was your name?”

Roman snaps his fingers. “Of course! Introductions all around!” Pulling himself from Virgil’s side, Roman goes over to throw an arm around the fox’s large head. “Gentlemen, let me introduce one of the figments from my realm, Vi.”

“Vi?” says Patton, who tilts his head almost in perfect timing with Logic.

“Who?” asks Virgil, stuffing his hands into his pockets and narrowing his eyes on the fox. 

Behind him, Deceit throws his head back and laughs. He cackles and throws one hand against his chest while the other tangles in his mud-soaked hair. “Oh my, this- this is hilarious!” It is impossible for the serpent not to notice the glare Anxiety is sending him, but Deceit doesn’t pause. He continues howling into the air for another five seconds at least.

“Go ahead, get it out of your system,” says Virgil behind gritted teeth. “We’ve got all day.”

“Heh, my apologies.”

One of Vi’s tails smacks Roman on the back of the head. “Ro, all your friends are insane.”

“Trust me. That one,” he points to Deceit. “Is not my friend.”

Vi seems to take this in stride and shifts his focus instead to Virgil. “So,” he slinks out from under Roman’s arm and strides into the Dark side’s space. Deceit’s laughter dies. “This is the infamous Anxiety, hm?” At standing height, the fox’s head sits just under the level of Virgil’s chin. Vi tilts his head up and takes a good whiff of Virgil’s scent. “Curious.”

“How do you mean?” asks Roman. Something feels off about the interaction and he can’t place his finger on it. Virgil looks to have gone stiff while at his back, Deceit’s hands have balled into fists at his sides. “Vi?”

The fox’s lip lifts, and before Roman has time to realize what is about to happen, it does. The fox throws his head against Virgil’s side, sending Anxiety flying through the air and then skidding across the sand.

“VIRGIL!” Roman and Deceit both call out the name and start sprinting towards the fallen side, but Vi bounds ahead. Taking advantage of his animalistic speed, the figment plants a giant paw on Anxiety’s chest, pinning him flat to the ground and snapping jaws large enough to take off his head barely an inch from the side’s nose.

“Stay back you two!” Vi growls, tails lashing. “You can’t trust this thing!”

“What!? Vi, stop it!”

“_Get off him_!” Deceit hisses, scales spreading down his arms.

Thomas and the others catch up, crowding around the other two but not daring to move ahead. “Roman, call him off!” Patton says, voice trembling.

Honestly, Roman considers discorporating Vi right in that moment. Snapping his fingers and ending the existence of his creation, but hesitates. Something tickles at the back of his head that he can’t quite reach and it is enough to stall his reaction. Vi’s hackles stand on end as he growls something down at Anxiety, something that makes Virgil’s eyes go wide with panic.

Roman catches a whisper.

“...don’t...” It is both plea and warning from side to figment. It falls on deaf ears.

The fox lifts his head, imperious and proud against the looming shadow of the great limb that falls across the gathered crowd. “This _ thing_,” Vi says, fire snapping against the tips of his tails. “Has the same scent as the spider.”

Virgil sinks against the sand, flat and defeated, eyes staring dull into the sky. Roman thinks, _Oh._

Beside him, not nearly so paralyzed, Deceit snaps.


	23. Chapter 23

_ So_, Virgil thinks to himself as he waits for Roman’s giant fox -pet- _ thing _ to tear his head off. _ This is what the end of everything feels like. _It is terrifying and cruel and sad and everything he loves is sitting in the crossfire. Under the cover of his hoodie, the spider can feel his limbs writhe and struggle to break through his skin for a counterattack. The hot breath of the fox brushes the hair from his face and exposes a mouth full of sharp teeth to his full line of sight. Inside his chest, Virgil’s heart thunders.

_ They know. They know, they know, THEY KNOW! We need to fight! _

The voices scream in his mind, clamouring for attention and credence. Virgil shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to wait and see the others’ reactions to the secret that wasn’t the fox’s to share. He just wants it to end.

Too bad Deceit won’t let him.

“_NO_!”

All at once there is shouting and roaring and the weight is torn from Virgil’s chest. He gasps, sitting up as he watches an enormous snake with two heads wrestle with the fox. Coiling its massive length and tangling in Vi’s limbs while vulpine and serpentine heads snap at each other amongst a thrashing mass of black and yellow. The more formed, symmetrical of the snake heads turns in his direction. “_Ssssnap out if it, Virgil_!”

“Both of you, STOP IT!” Morality is screaming, trying to tear himself away from the arms Logan has wrapped around him and get to the miniature kaiju battle unfolding before them. He would try to help, but Virgil’s focus is locked on Roman who has his sword half-drawn but by the looks of him, has no idea what or _ who _to use it on.

Virgil climbs unsteadily to his feet. Everything is coming apart at the seams far quicker than he knows how to handle and he doesn’t know what to do. “Roman,” he says, holding one arm out to the prince. “R-Roman call him off, please. I’ll explain everything I swear, but-”

_ End it. You know you can. Enough running, Paranoia, FIGHT! _

As it happens, it is Deceit who tips the scales in Virgil’s mind. Up to that moment the battle had seemed evenly matched, Deceit constricting around the fox’s limbs while Vi writhed and twisted out of anything more harmful than a paralyzing hold. But then the lesser of Deceit’s heads manages to sink its fangs into the fox’s neck, causing the figment to yelp. Brutish survival instinct kicking in, the fox manages to get one of its rear paws up against the serpent’s body, and _ tears_.

Blood splatters across the sand.

“_Deceit_!”

The sibilant cry that precedes Deceit falling away and shrinking back to half-human form pierces the spider down to his core, and suddenly he is back in the Dark Woods, young and untried and running for his life from monsters and demons with nothing but the serpent at his side. When he sees Deceit trembling on the ground with dark blood gushing from his side, the decision is made.

Virgil opens his eyes -all of them- and shifts into the hyper-aware focus of the hunt. The same trance he’d indulged not long ago when he’d chased Deceit in their game of tag, but this time, he has no intention of drawing out the pursuit.

The spider conjures his webbing with the same instinctual competency of an experienced rider returning to a bike. It whips out from his arm, snagging on the fox’s snout in mid-leap and Virgil yanks on the elastic string, bringing the fox's head crashing against the sandy ground and away from the limp serpent.

“Virgil!?” The sound of his host’s voice is possibly the only thing to physically force the spider’s focus away, and when he looks over, eight glowing, purple eyes take in Thomas’ immediate flinch. It hurts, but the spider is not surprised.

_ This is why I never told you. _

Vi staggers up, hackles raised and shaking his head furiously, trying to free his muzzle, but Virgil doesn’t let him. Four of his legs sprout, earning a shrieking cry that can only be coming from Patton, and he lunges. Azure flames bloom from the fox’s partially shut mouth, but the spider dodges easily, springing up and over the beast’s back and digging clawed hands into the fox’s ruff. His spider limbs dig into the ground and anchor him, giving Virgil the leverage to tear the fox down flat and pin him beneath his limbs. Black tails lash at the ground, but with his human legs straddled around the fox’s shoulders, his two hands pinning Vi’s face and neck, and spider limbs acting as a net, there is nowhere the fox can go. Virgil bares his fangs and lets his poison swell.

“STOP!”

Thomas’ shout commands the deafening rush of blood in Virgil’s ears to dampen. He stops, body freezing, with his fangs a hair’s breadth from Vi’s jugular. His host is standing much closer, but still a good few meters away, face contorted in terror and hands raised as if to a cornered animal. “Anxiety, stop. Now.”

The spider _ hisses_.

“V-Virgil…” When the serpent calls his human name, the spider looks over, following the angle of Thomas’ head tilt to where Deceit is now standing upright. Well, standing is a generous description. He is being held up by the prince’s arm around his waist while Roman holds his sword against Deceit’s neck. The serpent looks pale, sweat-soaked hair plastered against the human side of his face and red quickly swallowing the yellow of his shirt. His arms are trembling and there are patches of yellow scales missing from his forearms. Virgil seethes.

“_Princey, let him go._”

Roman twitches, face twisted in discomfort, but he maintains his position. “Not until you back off, Virgil.”

“_ME back off_!” Venom spits from the spider’s lips and he digs his claws deeper into the fox’s pelt. Beneath him, Vi whines. “_YOU THINK I WANTED THIS!? Your PET was the one who attacked first_!”

“Yes. Yes he did, okay,” says Thomas, sidestepping so he can stand between Virgil and Roman. “But look at yourself, Virge. We’re definitely pushing the wrong side of the Yerkes-Dodson curve and it’s not a good image.” Their host gestures to where Patton is on the ground, curled into Logan’s chest and refusing to look up. “Stand down.”

_ See? See how they look at you? _Matching looks of fear, distrust, loathing. They’re all terrified of him. And why not? Virgil’s not sure how he could have ever expected anything different.

It feels like a lead weight has been tied to Virgil’s heart and he can barely breathe. His shoulders tremble with the force of his inefficient inhales and he can feel wind and poison mingle between his fangs with each exhale. He doesn’t know what to do.

_ Kill the fox. The prince is too noble, he won’t touch the serpent before it’s too late. _He can see it so clearly too. Smother the fox with one hand, end it with a leg through the heart. In the same instant, snatch Creativity’s sword with a bolt of webbing and free the serpent. They could be away and racing to the safety of the spider’s realm before any of the Light sides knew it. But-

“Don’t do something we’ll all regret, Virgil,” says Roman.

Deceit spits a wad of blood and poison to the ground. “Yes, and you’re _ really _ upholding the paragon of justice look, Roman. Holding a hostage, _ very _Light side of you.” The serpent is trying to act flippant, but Virgil can read the apprehension in his eyes.

The prince’s face contorts in anger. “Would you _ shut up _ for once in your life!” Deceit’s tongue flicks out nervously and the sharp edge of Creativity’s sword shifts closer to the serpent’s chin. “Or I swear on Thomas’ Aunt Patty I will relieve your tongue from your mouth.” The forked appendage slips back behind Deceit’s lips and stays there.

“K-Kiddo, please.” 

The purple haze fades from Virgil’s vision and he lets his eyeshadow mask and overtake his extraneous eyes. Fangs shrinking back to their normal length, the spider turns to Morality. Patton is still hiding his face, refusing to look away from the crook of Logic’s neck, but now at least the pair are standing. 

“_Patton_?” His tempest tongue causes the moral aspect to flinch and Virgil swallows down a lump in his throat, forcing the voices down. “Dad- I-I’m not the bad guy, I swear!” There is a stinging at the corners of his human eyes and when Virgil blinks, wetness spills across his cheeks. “Please… please, believe me.”

“I believe you, Virgil, I do. But you need to give us a chance to understand.” With a deep breath, obviously meant to fortify, Pattton takes Logic’s hand and turns around. He doesn’t look at Virgil directly, but he does cast fleeting glances out of his peripheral. “We won’t hurt you or Deceit, I promise. So, put the legs away and let Vi go, so we can talk.”

_ NO! _Instinct screams not to let the Light sides take the stronger position. To do whatever it takes to get the serpent to safety and run. Fight or flight, self-preservation, survival instinct, love, it all crashes against one another in the spider’s head and Virgil hunches his shoulders and moans. It all hurts, it hurts so much.

“I-I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know who he is saying it to. The Light sides, Thomas, Deceit, or himself. Virgil folds away his legs and lets his claws recede. “...I’m sorry.”

The spider stays carefully limp when the fox vanishes from beneath his hold. And when an unfamiliar set of arms shove him to the ground, one hand gripped in his hair and the other twisting his arm behind his back, he ignores his predatory instinct and doesn’t resist. The bite of sand is uncomfortable against his face and his shoulder twinges, but it’s not as if it really matters. He could break the figment’s hold if he wanted to.

No, what concerns him more is the distressed hissing he can hear from Deceit. The serpent cannot be in good shape, after enduring Virgil’s storm, drinking the spider’s poison, _ and _fighting the fox. He needs help, and likely quick.

“What now, boss?” He can recognize Vi’s voice, even if the human shape is a surprise.

“Don’t hurt him, Vi.” There is a sound of something large striking sand and then suddenly the now-human fox is being pulled off of Virgil’s back. A more familiar, less hostile hand takes hold of his arm and guides him up. 

It’s Roman, and while the prince does not use the same crushing grip as his figment, it is clear in the iron-like bars of his fingers that he does not intend for Virgil to go anywhere either. At least his sword is sheathed though. The prince dodges Virgil’s searching gaze and the spider drops his eyes to the ground. 

Creativity clears his throat, though the act seems painful. “Thomas, what do you want to do?”

“Oh… I- uh um. Calm down everyone, it's going to be okay.” Even without looking Virgil knows Thomas is fidgeting with his hair and looking everywhere but at his sides. That suits him just fine, Virgil doesn’t think he could look his host in the eye right now.

“Virgil, we’re going to figure this out,” his host says, probably means for it to be reassuring too. “But we need to talk first so just go with Roman, alright?”

He nods, and follows the steady tug from Roman’s hand until they reach where Deceit is still laying crumpled on the ground. He can see the serpent trying to push himself up onto his hands and knees, but it is a fruitless effort. “...wait.”

“Hm?”

“I… I need to help Deceit. He’s weak, please just let me help him.” He will fight if he has to, but… he really, _ really _doesn’t want to.

“_I’m fine,_” the snake hisses, practically into a mouthful of sand.

A knot of irritation pulses in Virgil’s head and he rounds on Deceit, tugging on Roman’s arm to snap, “No you’re not. So, _ shut up_.”

Thomas nods, vigorously. “Of course, buddy. Do you need help carrying-”

Virgil doesn’t wait for the offer to be finished, sending out a string of webbing with a subtle _ thwick _that catches the back of the serpent’s yellow t-shirt and pulls him up into the spider’s arms. He extends a single spider limb to help carry the other Dark side while Roman holds his right arm. Thankfully, there isn’t enough emotional energy left in Virgil to feel much worse when the prince stiffens. Deceit doesn’t have time for them to linger on Roman’s obvious discomfort. “I’ve got him. Let’s go.”

“Wahoo…” Deceit mutters, voice tight as he breathes against Virgil’s shoulder. It is meant to be sarcastic, but the snake in his arms is shaking and there is blood on the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. His spider leg curls tighter around Deceit and he looks to Roman.

“Right.” With a grunt, the prince leads them back into the tent.

As soon as they pass the threshold Roman releases his grip, allowing Virgil to pull away and carry Deceit over to the bed he had only just occupied. He settles the serpent on his back, and cringes as the other side groans.

“Well… That was certainly anticlimactic,” he says, doing his best to smirk up at Virgil. The spider rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky your insides aren’t strewn across the ground out there and you call that anticlimactic?” Careful, he peels the fabric of Deceit’s shirt up to peer at the wound beneath. 

“Fair enough, I- _ HOLY_!”

The spider hisses and lets the shirt drop the moment he catches the first glimpse of long, rending tears in the serpent’s side. Deceit’s head drops back against the bed and he bites down on his lower lip to hold in a second shout.

“Okay, okay this is gonna take more than first aid.” Virgil rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie and casts a look over his shoulder to Roman. “Do you mind?”

“What?” The prince looks confused, standing at the tent flap with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. His hands are buried under his arms and his shoulders sit high with tension, but Virgil can still read stubbornness in his eyes. 

“Could you give us a minute?” Virgil asks.

A scoff. “That’s not happening.” Virgil isn’t sure what expression his face makes at that, but by the way Roman’s closes off in response, it wasn’t an understanding one. “Look,” the prince says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll turn my back, alright? But if we’re going to get past this, there can’t be anymore secrets.” Creativity does just that, turning so that he gives the Dark sides a clear view of his back and stares steadfastly at the tent wall. “Do… whatever it is you need to.”

It is not nearly enough privacy for Virgil’s liking, but he’ll take what he can get. The spider turns back to Deceit and offers his arm. “Go on.”

Deceit narrows his human eye and casts a quick look at Roman. “No way.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

The serpent hisses, although it is a weak thing in his current state. Deceit forces himself up onto his elbows and pushes Virgil’s arm away. “Right, like I’m about to drain you _ right _after going through all the trouble of topping you off just a second ago.”

“For the love of-” Virgil crouches by Deceit’s side. “Either you do it, or I knock you out and do it myself. Your choice.” The stare the serpent gives him is lingering.

“...no. You wouldn’t.” Not looking one bit happy about it, Deceit takes Virgil’s arm by the wrist and brings it close to his mouth. Careful to keep eye contact the entire time, the serpent slowly extends his needle-like fangs. His human eyebrow arches and Virgil nods.

“It’s fine, Deceit.”

It stings, the moment fang pierces skin, sending streams of fire up the spider’s arm, but it acts as little more than discomfort. Virgil’s poison is more than enough to counteract anything that manages to spread from the serpent and start edging into his core. So, he endures it while Deceit’s eyes slip shut and the serpent barely holds back a moan as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. For a few seconds Virgil can feel energy drain directly from himself into the other Dark side until Deceit pulls away with a wet _ pop. _

The serpent gasps and lets the spider’s wrist drop, bloody wound already closing into a mottled bruise. Likewise, up and down Deceit’s body, Virgil can see the stolen energy begin to work, patches of torn skin and missing scale turn pale and opaque, flaking away to reveal healed flesh beneath. Deceit shakes his head, blinking slow and heavy as exhaustion sweeps over him.

Virgil puts a hand to the snake’s shoulder and lays him flat. “Just sleep,” he says. 

Deceit grunts and looks over to Roman. “Hey, Prince.”

“Hm?” The Light side turns back around, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

“If I drop for a nap, do I need to worry about any unwarranted beheadings?” Deceit’s tongue slips into the air, tasting for lies.

“In your case, it would hardly be unwarranted,” says Roman, although in the same breath he does conjure himself a chair and take a seat in the far corner of the tent, away from Deceit. 

“I’ll watch over you,” Virgil assures the other Dark side, and he is sure to hold the serpent’s gaze right up until Deceit’s eyelids fall shut, keeping a scaled hand firmly in his grip. The snake releases a deep, settling breath and falls into slumber, leaving Virgil and Roman alone. 

On second thought, maybe he should have kept Deceit awake.

“Virgil.” 

Anxiety buries his face in his free palm. “...what, Roman?”

“Can… can we talk?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Virgil slaps his hands on his thighs and shifts to sit at Deceit’s bedside. 

Across from him, Roman is staring down at his hands, clasped tightly between his knees. The prince looks to be trembling, minutely but still, enough that Anxiety can read the fear that wafts from him. It tastes of salt and iron and the faintest touch of rose. Virgil takes a deep breath of it.

“Please, Virgil. I-I need to go out there and speak to the others, but… Explain to me what happened back there.”

Virgil pulls his legs off the ground and against his chest, holding them tight with one arm while the other pulls up his hood. “...it doesn’t matter.”

The prince groans, and when he hears the other side get to his feet, Virgil flinches. “Don’t do this to me, Virgil,” says Roman. “No shutting down, no ducking out, _ talk _to me.”

“Well, what do you _think happened_? Virgil can hear the prince’s furious pacing cut to a halt. He lets two of his legs sprout and looks up to take in with vivid detail, the way Roman recoils. “Your friend almost killed Deceit, and I retaliated.” 

“And those?” Roman tosses his head in the direction of one of Virgil’s limbs and curls the leg in tight around himself. “You told me you split from the spider, but you don’t see me sprouting tentacles. And Vi… Vi said you had the same scent.”

The fox’s name makes Virgil want to snarl. “So?”

“You shouldn’t. Remus and I certainly don’t.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. He’s so sick and tired. Of all of it. The running, the hiding, of trying to balance this delicate house of cards that feels ready to topple over the moment he takes a breath. The spider climbs to his feet and considers the limb arching tall and proud over his shoulder. 

He’s Paranoia. Why should he cling so hard to something doomed to fail?

“I don’t know, Roman…” he says, feeling the comfortable weight of bitterness settling over his shoulders. “Why don’t you squeeze those last two brain cells of yours together and figure it out?” 

“Hey now-”

“Maybe, it’s because unlike you, _ I’m a Dark side_,” says Virgil, with a mild shrug. “And for some reason that makes us a little less _ human _ than the rest of you. Or maybe I don’t have a GODDAMN clue why I _ smell _ the way I do, because _ I’m not a FOX_!”

Roman raises both hands in an act that is likely meant to be placating, but only causes Virgil to bristle more. He says, “Virgil, calm down…”

“_Don’t tell me to CALM DOWN_!” The memory of Creativity’s weapon at the serpent’s throat burns cold in the Virgil’s heart.

“I’m _ trying _to help you!”

“_I don’t need your help_!” Frustration fuels a swell of power that bleeds out into the tent. The sand blackens beneath Virgil’s feet and before he knows it, his eight legs have planted themselves around the surrounding tarp. Shadows black out the light of the sun around them and the spider knows that in this isolated web, no one would hear the prince scream. “_Do you want to know what the spider is_?”

Roman stands his ground, knees locked as Virgil strides forward to glare up at him with burning, purple eyes. “Virgil… I’m not going to let you push me away.”

The spider scoffs. “_Princey, Princey, Princey. Still so sure that we all need you to be the gallant knight_.”

“Anxiety.” There are calloused hands on the sides of his face, and it takes most of Virgil’s self control to keep from impaling the prince where he stands. Roman says, “I know that our other halves can sometimes influence us. I’ve felt it… with Remus.” The prince shudders, but his face remains devoid of ill-intent. It draws the spider up short. “I can't imagine what it must be like as a Dark side, but I won’t let the spider scare me away from you.”

The Dark recedes, and Virgil reclaims his limbs, shrinking back into the shell of Anxiety. Roman’s thumbs brush the edges of the eyeshadow beneath his human eyes. The prince smiles, and it is a watery thing. “There you are.”

“Roman…” Virgil’s hands reach up to cling to the Light side’s wrists. “You don’t understand. This isn’t something you can save me from.”

The prince leans down and their foreheads meet, rich brown hair tangling with tinted purple. “At least let me try,” he says. “Tell me the names of your demons and I swear I’ll spend however long it takes fighting them by your side.”

Virgil bites down hard on his lip, stifling the words that want to come out. He wants to tell the truth. He wants to believe that even if he knew, Roman would still feel the same way. That they all would, and that Virgil could keep this family that he’d found. “I-I need… I need to tell you.”

Roman inches a little closer. The prince is breathing heavily and their noses brush. “Anything,” he says. “...eres mi todo.” Virgil is pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear that last bit, not that it matters.

He really needs to learn Spanish.

Licking his lips, Virgil tries, really he does. But in the end, they are still in Deceit’s realm, and the lie comes so much easier.

He says, “The spider-the one you're looking for… it’s Paranoia.”


	24. Chapter 24

Patton is pretty sure he’s in shock. From the quavering of his knees, to the coolness of his fingertips as he clings to Logan’s hand like a lifeline, he feels both like the world has been stuffed in cotton and simultaneously that he is being drowned in a bucket of ice. It breaks his heart, watching everyone around him reel and wrestle with the emotions they all share. And when Virgil finally disappears with Roman and Deceit back into the tent, he gives up the fight to remain on his feet.

Logan grunts as the teacher tries to support Patton’s weight, but ends up simply crouched beside when Morality’s knees hit sand. Patton clamps a hand over his mouth and tries to keep back the keening wail that builds up in his throat. 

He can’t let himself be overcome by his emotions. If he breaks down now, lets the instinctive fear and impulse of rejection take hold, the effect could extend to Thomas. And the repercussions of that outcome… could scar forever. At least Logan is there, a steady rock for him to lean against as his back bows and his shoulders tremble. Calm, warm fingers travel up and down his back. Providing a constant for him to follow back to ground.

“Patton, are you okay?” He can hear as their host calls out and starts making his way over across the sand and cringes. Thankfully, the hand on Patton’s shoulder disappears and he can feel the swaying of hair as Logan shakes his head, warning Thomas back.

Patton balls his hands over his knees and swallows. He says, “K-Kiddo, I need you to stay over there, okay? Dad’s just… gotta get a handle on some stuff.”

It’s just Virgil, he tells himself. Chants it like a mantra over and over and over again in his head. Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. His wonderful child of moonlight and shadow. He’s not afraid. He’s not-

_ Spider. Death-dealer. Wrong. _

A phantom sensation like a million crawling legs spills down Patton’s spine and he wraps the hoodie around himself tighter. He can’t stop seeing the too long appendages, the frothing jaws and dead but glowing eyes. He doesn’t understand how _ his _Anxiety could be so-so horrifying.

He wants to purge it from his mind. Hit Ctrl + F and delete all mention, hint, and instance of the spider from Thomas’s mind. Starting with the limb still hovering over all their heads. 

But that was repression, wasn’t it? Logan said that didn’t work. Was harmful even. And more importantly… he doesn’t want to lose Virgil. Doesn’t want to see a mindscape without their anxious guardian angel, or Thomas without the balancing weight of Anxiety’s caution. He doesn’t even know, is it possible to have one without the other? Virgil. The spider. In his mind Patton sees a long and gruesome shadow cast at the feet of Anxiety. And he doesn’t know if Virgil doesn’t flinch because he can’t see the monster looming in the Dark, or because for him there is nothing there to hide from.

Logan’s hand returns to his back. A gentle reminder to breathe.

Shaking his head, Patton thinks back to the hastily scrawled, black-and-white card taped proudly to his fridge. He recalls the feeling of warmth, like an oven’s soft exhale against frosted glass in winter, when Anxiety had given it to him and holds it tight in his heart. That memory alone shines like a star against the night sky and helps keep the despair at bay. With a fortifying breath, Morality stands to his feet.

“You good, Pat?” Thomas asks, still maintaining a respectful distance.

Patton bobs his head up and down. “Ah-um yep. I think so.”

He can _ feel _Logan’s unconvinced stare.

“I’ll get there,” he amends, for the sake of clarification and transparency. He gets a satisfied _ Pat- _on the shoulder and Logan steps into view. With one hand providing grounding support to Patton, he waves Thomas over with the other. 

“Logan, you’re being awfully quiet.” Thomas claps both his sides on the back. “Could use some good old scholarly wisdom right about now.” Thomas grins, but it looks stretched and Patton can feel the depressive wave of exhaustion that drags at their host’s emotional core. He’s tired, and they haven’t even begun to see just how much of a toll the last few minutes have taken on him.

Logan’s expression twists in irritation and he gestures a hand to the space around them. Then he points to his throat. When Thomas only returns a blank stare, the teacher looks to Patton.

“...Oh! Yeah, Logan can’t talk here.” At Thomas’ doubletake, he continues, “Effect of Deceit’s realm.”

Disappointment sweeps over Patton from Thomas like a heavy weight. “...great.” Thomas wrings a hand in his hair. “Logan, I need your help. Both of you.” He looks between Logan and Patton and licks his lips. There is sweat beading on his brow and his face is flush.

“Thomas, maybe you should sit down.” Patton slips from under Logan’s arm and takes their host’s hands.

“No, no I’m fine,” Thomas clears his throat. “We need to talk about Virgil.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Roman then?”

Thomas shakes his head. “He’ll be out in a minute. Guys, I need someone to explain to me what just happened.” As a collective, the trio look over to where Vi is sitting a close distance away. The fox is still in human form, stretching and poking at a colorful collection of punctures running up and down his neck. Punctures that Deceit and Virgil, but mostly Virgil, gave him.

Something in the figment’s expression twitches as he feels their stares and he looks over, scowling. “What?”

Logan adjusts the sit of his glasses and taps his nose.

“What did you mean when you said Virgil smells the same as the spider?” asks Thomas. Saving Patton from needing to translate.

The fox rolls his eyes and rests his elbows on his knees. “Exactly what I said. Your rabid friend over there smells the same as that thing Roman says you’re tracking.” He tosses his head towards the great spider limb. 

Patton’s head hurts with the effort of trying to sort the pieces that slowly seem to be coming together. He scratches at his temple and peeks toward Logan. “What does that mean?”

“Hell if I know,” Vi flops flat on his back and shifts into fox form, stretching out against the sand with his tails swaying. “But say the word and I’ll tear that bug apart. His snake friend too.”

Logan opens his mouth, raising a hand as if to say something, then quickly seems to remember he can’t and lets it drop.

“That’s not happening,” Thomas snaps, taking both of his sides by the arm and turning them away from the figment. “Right, forget him. Logan, what do you think?”

Logan traps his chin between thumb and forefinger and Patton can practically read the logical inferences and proofs running through the intellectual side’s brain. He nods and takes Patton’s hand, pulling the group closer to the great spider limb still perched in their midst. A cursory scan of the ground reveals the slightly obscured etchings he’d drawn in the ground. With the edge of one shoe Logan retraces the faded lines.

Patton shivers as he reads the words printed there.

‘Parano-vigilant’.

‘An unhealthy amount of concern’.

And below...

“Paranoia,” Thomas reads. 

No sooner does their host say the word, that Patton steps forward and uses his foot to erase the lines from the sand. Logic may send him an odd look at that, but Morality can’t find it in himself to feel sheepish as a result. Patton clears his throat and steps back beside Thomas, kicking his now sandy shoe against his opposite heel and straightening the hoodie around his shoulders.

As Logan shifts to give a somber nod to their host, Patton shakes his head. “No, no, _ no_. Thomas is _ not _paranoid.” He takes the crook of Thomas’ arm and clings to it, as if his mere presence alone would be enough to fight back the power such a thing might hold.

Logic pulls away and crosses his arms in an ‘x’, vehemently shaking his head. He throws a hand back towards the spider leg and points the other at the spot where the word had been written in the sand.

Patton’s eyebrows furrow and he still doesn’t want to let go of Thomas. He says, “Deceit said that the spider was a side. And Logan, you think it’s… you think it’s Paranoia?” He gets a nod in return accompanied by a prickling of gooseflesh that Patton can see sprout along the teacher’s rolled up sleeves. Patton asks, “But what does that have to do with Anxiety?” 

Logan kneels on the ground and drags a circle in the sand with four lines sprouting from the left and right sides. Then, a short distance away he draws a cloud with a lightning bolt. Between the two, he forms an arrow pointing from the spider, to the cloud. 

“You think Anxiety came from Paranoia?” asks Thomas, who now has a fist held up to his mouth, a concerned furrow forming between his eyebrows. Logan draws a question mark on the ground and shrugs.

“Okay, um okay,” says Patton. “Putting that aside then, h-how do we even know that thing is Paranoia? Like I said before, Thomas isn’t paranoid, and Paranoia was just...” Patton dwindles off as he considers the thought. For once he wishes Deceit were well enough to force his mouth shut. He doesn’t even want to _ think _about it… driven by some instinctive belief that to give thought to the idea would make it somehow true.

“Just what, Patton?” Of course Thomas, as always, charges onwards under the overflowing drive of Logan’s curiosity.

“...the bogeyman,” Patton says.

Thomas recoils, “What?”

Morality rubs a hand up and down his arm and stares beseechingly at Logan. “Gosh I wish you could talk right now,” he says, to which the logical side gives a sad, little smile. Then he turns to Thomas. “Roman would know more but, back when you were younger, you had a lot more sides Thomas. Roman, Logan, and I were already pretty well formed but the Dark sides… It was a lot more chaotic in their neck of the woods back then.”

Well, chaotic might be an understatement. From the way a young Roman had once drifted into his room shaken and pale from a brief foray into the Dark in search of Remus, the correct term might be something more like complete and utter pandemonium. 

“What do you mean?” Thomas scratches at his head and wanders over to the stone dais of Deceit’s throne, taking a seat on one of the steps. Patton and Logan each sit beside him.

Patton says, “Well, Remus was there, since he and Roman used to be part of a whole. But Deceit and Anxiety didn’t appear right away.” Patton plays with the fingers of his hands and tries not to think about those days. About the years when beasts and monsters assaulted the Light sides with everything they had, trying to gain a foothold in Thomas’ soul. “There were others,” he says instead.

“Like Paranoia?”

Logan shakes his head before Patton can answer.

“There was Fear, Jealousy, Rage. More too, but they’d come and go.” And then Anxiety had made himself known. Had persisted, and stabilized in their equilibrium. And Patton had convinced himself that the Light had won, that the darkest corners of Thomas’ mind were only occupied now by this… lesser evil. 

“What do you mean they’d come and go? Go where?” asks Thomas.

“They were devoured.” 

Patton jumps when he hears Roman’s voice all of a sudden cut in from behind them. Host and sides turn to see their creative aspect make his way over from the tent, looking a bit unsteady but altogether alright.

“Everything okay, Roman?”

A nod. “Fine. Deceit’s resting and Virgil’s looking after him.” With a sigh, the prince runs a tired hand through his hair and down his face. Patton’s eyebrow arches as he feels the echo of a fluttering heart in Roman’s chest. The skipping beat is accompanied by the slightest hint of a fading blush on the side’s cheeks. Curious, Patton quirks his head. It almost feels like- 

“We have some time to talk,” Roman finishes, cutting off Morality’s train of thought.

“Good,” says Thomas. “Now, what were you saying?” 

The prince crosses his arms. “First off, Logan’s right,” he nods towards Logic who looks slightly taken aback. “The spider is Paranoia, Virgil told me. He admitted that-”

Something clicks, and a sound escapes Patton’s lips that causes the others to flinch. He’d feel worse for it, except that he is trying very hard not to completely lose it. His breathing ratchets up and he is consumed by an urge to try and sink out, retreat back to his room of safety and comfort. He doesn’t want to know- he doesn’t want to know… 

What if the lesser evil didn’t rule in the shadows? 

Patton clings to the memory of his dark and stormy son wrapped in his arms, as a sock puppet in the mindscape or in the woods of the forest, and cements them in his heart. _ That _ is Virgil. Not whatever it was Roman cut away from Thomas like a parasite. It couldn’t be.

And yet… Why did those two puzzle pieces seem to gravitate towards one another, their edges aligning almost perfectly even from afar? One, Virgil. Two, the spider is Paranoia. And when he puts them together-

“...Patton. Patton!” A pair of fingers snap in front of Patton’s nose, forcing him back to the here and now and out of his head. A few steps ahead, Roman pulls back his hand and gives the fatherly persona a concerned frown. “You still in there, padre? Kind of spaced out for a bit.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry about that kiddo.” Patton shakes his head and winces when he gets an eyeful of blazing desert sunset. He rubs his thumb and forefinger against his eyes and blows a raspberry through his lips. “I guess my head went to a weird place. You were saying?”

Logan quirks his head but Patton waves him off. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Thomas joins Roman in standing. “Roman was just explaining that apparently Virgil and Paranoia -I guess- used to be the same side. But they split, kind of like what happened with him and Remus.”

Beside him, Logan nods and Patton bobs his head along too, clinging to every word of explanation. “That’s why he has the um- leg thingies?” asks Patton, making a vague gesture with his fingers.

“Don’t forget the eyes,” says Thomas. “... and the fangs.”

“Okay yes,” Roman raises his hands towards Thomas and Patton. “Virgil seems to have a few more… extraneous oddities than we thought. But you can’t really blame him for being a bit concerned about mentioning them, can you?” Roman jerks a thumb in Patton’s direction. “Happy Pappy over here almost wet himself.”

“Fair enough,” says Thomas, wiping a hand on the back of his neck. Their host sighs, sounding exhausted. “What do we do then? About Paranoia?”

Roman lifts a hand into the air and opens his mouth. “I’m… not sure.” The prince seems to deflate where he stands, suddenly looking a lot more daunted. “Paranoia is-was, just a rumor. A Dark side that fed on other Dark sides until it became something immeasurably more powerful.”

“Patton said it’s like the bogeyman,” says Thomas.

Roman shrugs. “It’s a valid comparison. But the point is, if we want to rid ourselves of it, we must find its main body.”

“Not just the legs we’ve seen?” asks Patton.

“Exactly,” Roman snaps his fingers and gives Morality a wink. “Glad to see you’re on board, Pat.”

Thomas is nodding, slowly with his lips pursed as he considers. He says, “Right. So, how do we go about finding that?” He points vaguely upwards to where the the top of the great spider limb disappears into the clouds. “I’m not much of a climber.” Thomas sets his hands on his hips and lets out a long exhale, like the very thought itself is tiring.

Logan perks up and claps his hands, turning to point back in the direction of the tent. He makes a miming gesture of pulling on a hood.

Patton blinks. “Anxiety! He and Paranoia used to be the same side, so we should look in Anxiety’s realm!” At Logan’s excited nod, Patton beams. And then he doesn’t. “Wait. But we can’t just look around Virgil’s room, we’ll get corrupted.” Though, now that he thinks about it, Patton wonders if it really was Anxiety’s influence that had driven them closer and closer to the edge of sanity, or if it was that of something far more dangerous.

Roman takes to pacing. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” he says. “Virgil’s as terrified of that thing as the rest of us. For Thomas’ sake and his, we can’t allow it to remain.” The prince squares his shoulders and faces the rest of them. “Agreed?”

A nod from Logan and Patton follows suit. “Right.”

“Agreed,” says Thomas and it seems that the course has been laid. They deliberate for a time, discussing as best they can without Logan’s verbal input, on how best to approach a return to the Dark woods and into Anxiety’s realm. As they do, the world seems to slow around them, and the trial of the last few hours finally seems to catch up. Logan begins to lean against Patton’s side, and Roman’s intense, stream of consciousness brainstorming gets broken up by increasingly frequent yawns.

On the horizon, the sunset seems more diminished than before.

Even so, it’s not until Patton rubs his eyes five times in quick succession that he realizes something may be wrong. Logan has begun to lean heavily on his shoulder, and across from them, Roman’s stance has widened, to compensate as the prince sways in place.

“T-Thomas,” Patton says between a yawn. “Are you… feeling alright?”

Thomas blinks once, slow, and then looks up at Patton. “Hm?”

“You’re-” Patton waves his hand as words momentarily escape him. Logan loses his footing and they both end up in a heap in the sand. Roman too, has sunk to a sitting position on the top of the stone dais. “...sleepy.”

“Oh.” Thomas glances around and hums as he zeroes in on Deceit’s stone throne. Their host wanders up and slides into the carved seat, propping his head on the palm of one hand. “Yeah, guess I am.”

“T-The sun’s going down,” says Roman, who is panting with the effort to keep his focus and look towards where the persistent sunset has begun to fall behind a towering dune. “...the _ heck_.”

Thomas giggles into the fingers of his left hand. “Yeah, that’s some pretty terrible timing. Guess my mind’s telling me I need… a break...”

“Why now?” Patton lifts the glasses from his head for a moment to pinch his eyes. As he does so, Logan loses the fight against slumber and his head falls into the moral side’s lap. “There, there, Logan.”

“... dunno,” says Thomas. He yawns. “But I’m really… really… tires-mmm.” Their host drifts off to a light rumble as he too falls asleep, sitting slouched on the stone throne.

Patton looks to Roman, who has somehow managed to climb to his feet, one hand on the hilt of his weapon and the other braced on one knee. “Ro- where are you going?”

“Need… to get to- see… Virgil.” The prince throws himself upright and takes a wobbling step towards the tent. “Still… awake.” Roman sinks to his knees, slumping over on his side. He catches himself on an elbow, but doesn’t seem to have the strength to rise. Patton doesn’t even try.

To the west, the last glimpse of the desert sun drops below the horizon, leaving them in near total darkness. “Um… Roman? Do you see that?”

“Hm?” 

Patton points a wobbling finger towards the horizon, where a strange, shifting green glow seems to bloom from the sky. “Is-like… what’s it-” he can’t remember the name. Logan would know. But it’s pretty. Pretty and strange and… for some reason it terrifies him. “...Roman?”

A peek over his shoulder reveals to Morality that he is the last one awake. Their creative side has let his head fall, resting cradled in the sand. Alone, Patton whimpers. “Vi?” Back where they had left the figment, the fox also seems down for the count, great sides heaving in slow, relaxed breaths of unconsciousness.

“V-Virgil!” It is a last, desperate attempt and seems to take whatever strength Morality had left. Patton slumps over, careful to keep Logan’s head supported as he does so. Dark clouds start to converge on his vision and his eyelids feel like lead weights over his eyes, but he fights it. He fights until he hears the subtle flapping of the tent fabric. 

Footsteps make their way closer, and when they pass, Patton sees Virgil standing with his face turned toward the horizon. Anxiety’s hood is up, and his hands are balled into fists.

“_The hell_?” he says, mostly to himself. Virgil casts a look around, not seeming to notice that Patton is still awake, and turns back to the glowing green... aurora- oh yeah, that’s what it’s called. He hears Anxiety loose a low and reverberating hiss that sends ice pouring down Patton’s spine. “_What have you done, Remus_?”

Patton can feel what’s coming before it does. Desperate, he throws an arm forward to catch the cuff of Anxiety’s jeans. “...Virgil,” he tries to call out, but it comes out more like a whisper. Thankfully, he is still heard and Virgil crouches beside him.

“Patton? It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, Thomas just needs to sleep again, remember?”

Virgil is trying to smile, trying to comfort him and Patton feels his heart swell with love and pride. But that’s not why he wanted the other side’s attention. He tries to get the words out. “Don’t…don't go.”

The strained smile on Anxiety’s face fades a little and his shoulders slump. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Virgil takes the hand still gripped around his jeans and gently pries it away. “I promise.”

Anxiety stands to his feet, casting a look towards where Patton knows Roman is slumbering away as well. “Just trust me. I’ll make you all proud.” 

He wants to tell Virgil that there is nothing for him to prove. Whatever the connection between him and Paranoia, there is nothing that could possibly make Patton love him any less. Same for any of them, including Thomas. But he is out of time, and when he tries to open his mouth, nothing comes of it. Virgil turns, and in a sweep of black clouds, disappears. 

Patton is left with nothing but a fading wind in his hair and a bad feeling in his gut as he loses the fight to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

The climb is no simple feat. Despite preparing as one might for an assault on the heart of Paranoia’s kingdom, there is nothing more treacherous in all the wild imagination. The looming mountain, alone and isolated, pierces high into the clouds and welcomes nothing and no one but its master. Not even the Dark half of the creative spirit. Remus knows this, and yet he climbs.

“_Fudge sticks shoved up a camel’s butthole_.” The Duke curses as the rock gives way beneath his right hand, leaving him to dangle, quite precariously, from a not insignificant height. The wind plays at the sweat-soaked locks of Remus’ hair, sending chills down the Dark side’s spine. He grins through the prickling of a stray curl in the corner of his eye. He is a senescent leaf, clinging to its bough in the last vestiges of autumn, foolhardy, but ever tenacious.

Grinding the fingers of his left hand harder into the stone, Remus sways and reclaims his grip. A peek up reveals just a few meters farther, the slim, craggy entrance to a cave that is his destination. Its opening wide and short, like a mouth just beginning to part. “Come to papa,” he says, licking the salt from his upper lip.

It is difficult to find footing to carry him further. Remus grunts as a promising foothold crumbles away, leaving nothing but a stubborn collection of mountain flowers clinging to the rocky surface. Remus bites his lip and spares a moment to tear them off with the toe of his boot, watching the purple petals flutter away with a smile on his face. Once the misplaced flora have disappeared, he turns his focus back upwards.

His jacket is already torn, his fingers bloody, and the air has long since become thin at this altitude. Remus manages a few more feet towards his goal before the sudden cry of a vulture nearly startles him right off his perch. He whips his head around and screeches right back at it.

“Go caw at some other climber you unplucked piece of Victorian headwear! Before I decide to make Deceit a new hat!”

The vulture cries again, and perches on the lip of the cavern entrance. It stares down at Remus with black, beady eyes, tossing its head while its feathers momentarily ruffle and then settle back down against its back. It hops to the side to get a better angle of view. Waiting for him to plummet.

Remus scowls up at the bird and flips it one of his own before nearly slipping again and letting his forehead smack against the mountainside. “...ow.” He’s so close. Damnable peanut gallery aside, he is not going to give up now. “Fine, you want to be a voyeur,” he says. “I can work with that.”

Risking alerting Virgil ahead of time to his schemes, Remus reaches for his aspect and lets the twisting, curling mass of his tentacles slip from his back, pressing their soft flesh against the hard cut of stone. The extra weight nearly topples him, but as the suckers take their own grip with a wet squelch, he anchors his hold. Remus grins, black ink slipping from the corners of his mouth. “There we go.”

Better yet, when no storm of lightning appears overhead to smite him into oblivion, he feels it safe to assume that wherever he is, Virgil has not deigned to take note of his trespass. How fortuitous, if slightly irksome.

Remus hauls himself upwards, grinning with all teeth as he nears the cavern entrance. The vulture cries again, flapping its wings, but does not take flight or flee. Too bad for it, the moment the first of the Duke’s arms comes to rest on the flat surface of the grotto, he commands a tentacle to swoop forward and swallow the raptor in its grip. The bird struggles, he can feel the beating of frantic wings within his tentacle’s coils, but they are to no avail. No, he keeps hold and rather than snap its neck, Remus lets the bird struggle to exhaustion, allowing the moist skin of his tentacle to smother the figment in its fleshy prison. 

The Duke plants his feet at the cave mouth and groans, stretching his arms over his head and working the crick in his neck as he is faced with the fruits of his labor. A cavern leading into a pit of darkness. Within, a lightless stretch that exudes an aura of malevolence and danger. Remus breathes in the foreboding and feels the heavy smoke of fear and despair go straight to the front of his pants. 

“Worth every broken nail,” he sighs, setting one hand on his hip and bringing the other up to buff against the shoulder of his jacket. He peeks down and notices the nail of his pinky sitting pretty and intact as opposed the bloodied mess of the rest of his fingers. “Or not.” He shrugs and looks back into the cave.

The seat of Paranoia’s power. 

A single step forward invites a sudden gale that threatens to shove Remus right back over the edge of the mountain, but he anchors himself by the tentacles, wrapping them around the stalagmites rising up from the ground like jagged teeth. When the assault dies down, the Duke spits oil back into the cave.

“Rude.”

The tentacle containing his ill-fated peeper drops the dead bird in Remus’ awaiting palm. “I even brought a gift,” he tosses the carcass into the black void, watching as it is swallowed up in shadow. There is no sound of a limp thud as it hits the ground, nor any hint of the bird’s fate. Remus scowls.

“Clever boy, Virgie.” For all that Remus knows, this could be one of the spider’s many false entrances. Paranoia was always a cautious little bitch like that. He wouldn’t put it past the emo upstart to make his most guarded entrance just another trap. He could take one step inside and find himself falling right back to the base of the mountain. Or perhaps walk into a snare and be left to sit tangled in a web until the spider decides to come around for a late night snack.

The smart choice would be to give it up and teleport himself somewhere safe. Go back to the watery haven of his own realm and revel in peace… But that would be boring. And besides, it isn’t like Remus has anything to lose.

The Duke rolls his shoulders, reclaiming his tentacles, and takes a deep breath. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” he says, then giggles. “Oh wait, heh. I don’t have any.” And he steps into the darkness.

The black curtain swallows him whole, leaving Dark Creativity in a hollow void for a moment that seems to last an eternity before his foot touches down on hard surface again. Remus blinks and finds himself in a familiar location.

The throne of fear sits high upon a mound of bones. Broken skeletons and dessicated corpses preserved by the very will of Dark that surrounds them. The ebony seat is carved in delicate elegance and coated in a lacquer that shines with deadly allure. And wreathing it to either side, are the beginnings of silver webbing that joins a tapestry coating the inside of the mountain and stretches unseen far and wide. Remus whistles, low and appreciative as ever of Paranoia’s sense of severity and poise. Neglected or not, the spider’s great web is truly something to behold.

But as much as the Duke would absolutely _ love _to stroll on up and leave his juicy mark on Virgil’s high chair, that is not why he has come. No, instead he turns his focus to the ornamentation that marks the path leading up to the spider’s throne. Webbed cocoons, long and globular, dangling from silken cables high above. Remus approaches the closest of these hanging trophies and rests a hand along its roped surface.

The phantom echo of stretching solitude, the suffocating weight of isolation and friendless despondency bleeds across the webbed cage and into the Duke. Remus imagines that from within he can hear a deep and mournful cry. “Hello again, Loneliness,” he says, and when he lets his hand drop away, it leaves a stain of black sludge, same as the one leaving a trail down the Duke’s cheek. He giggles and sniffs, flicking the edge of his mustache before moving away.

He goes on to the next, and the next, reacquainting himself with the hollow shells of what had once been the denizens of the Dark. The delicate, birdlike presence of Jealousy -the vindictive harpy-, the burning, self-destructive sting of Rage, and so on. At each cocoon he leaves his mark until finally, the Duke reaches the last, sitting closest to the throne.

Here, he conjures his morningstar, and tears a hole through the cocoon’s side until its contents pour out onto the ground in a heap of bones, viscera, and flesh. Much like with Rage, the remains exude a heady, rushing desire for destruction. But unlike the fleeting influence of the Dark impulse, this one is tempered by careful, patient purpose. Remus reaches into the mound of body parts, rooting through until he pulls from it a beautifully elegant skull.

One that no doubt is the most prized of Paranoia’s sizeable collection and the spider’s crowning achievement. Pulling the cuff of his jacket over bloodied hands, the Duke wipes the fenestrated piece of bone clean. “There you are,” he says, pressing a kiss to the smooth length of the skull’s muzzle. Standing, Remus takes the wolf skull and holds it level with his face. The Duke croons as he runs his thumbnail along the curve of the wolf’s canine:

“_Alas, dear Malice! I’ve missed you so. _  
_ Sweet prince of ill intent, how poor a fate _ _  
_ _ as this, to take thee where I cannot go. _ _  
_ _ Not but food for child groomed in this, thy hate_.”

The words come in a downpour of strange sentiment. As he admires the sheen of pale bone against the dark backdrop of the cave, Remus lets his aspect run free. Four tentacles slide from his back, growing and emboldening as they spread against the floor of the cave and start to climb up the web-infested walls.

“_Shall we yet endure your son’s defection?  
_ _ Left to rot, our brothers in arms, for this _ _  
_ _ side of shadow seeking Light’s inclusion.  
_ _ What have we left, now Virgil leaves what’s his? _”

It’s not fair. Once already, has Remus been left robbed of what is his by right. Their host’s loves and passions and dreams, stolen away by Roman’s sanctimonious need for gallantry while he, the unloved brother, is cast aside. This he lays at the feet of Morality and Creativity, but at the very least then he’d had the Dark sides to embrace. Malice and Rage, and the others, who promised that one day soon they would be heard. 

Then came the itsy-bitsy spider, who devoured them all, save Dark Creativity and Deceit. He stole the will and ambitions of the Dark sides only to abandon his name, his duty, and flee to the Light. And now, with the serpent still ever at the spider’s heels, what is Remus left with but an empty promise of belonging.

Striding up the ossified steps to the spider’s throne, the Duke circles Paranoia’s seat of power. He very carefully resists the urge to simply settle in to the space himself and looks down upon the hanging graves of his fellow Dark sides, clutching the wolf skull all the harder.

“_Your sacrifice for not, strength left untapped.  
_ _ Is it not solemn promise of the dark, _ _  
_ _ to worship power, chaos, might unchecked?  
_ _ A proposal I offer thee, now: Hark! _”

No more. The Duke places the skull of Malice at the feet of the spider’s throne and steps back and down the steps. Here, in the heart of where all his fallen brothers have been laid to rest, there might yet be hope. With Paranoia so removed from the heart of his realm, perhaps Remus has a chance to reach the ghosts he once called friends.

“_Paranoia I shall, for you, dethrone.  
_ _ For undue negligence, he will atone._”

Remus can feel the Dark ebb and flow around him, saturating the octopus’ every pore. It makes him dizzy, and when the Duke blinks, he spots a flash of color at the foot of the throne.

_ For the love all that Dark consumes, enough with the melodramatic poetry. I suffered enough of it from Paranoia. _

Dark Creativity breaks into a toothy smile and takes a flourishing bow. Peeking through the dangling curtain of his brown-and-silver hair he spies a wolf of semi-transparent form sitting with one paw braced on the top of the skull. Remus says, “Thought that might tickle your fancy enough to pull you from the void.”

The wolf sniffs, one ear twitching as it narrows its eyes on the Duke. _ I will admit a certain intrigue in your lack of vulgarity. And here I thought you incapable of forming a rhyming couplet without referencing male genitalia. _ Malice lifts himself up to a standing position and shakes out his coat. He says, _ What do you want, Dark Creativity? _

Remus holds his grin, but feels the edge of it go sharp like jagged glass. “Retribution,” he says.

_ Oh? _ The swish of the wolf’s tail is the only real sign that the Dark side’s interest is piqued, but Remus latches on to it with all he has. _ Has the little one truly proven himself that much of a nuisance to you? _There is a dark chuckle from the wolf that has Remus’ grin flipping into a frown. His tentacles writhe and sink lower to the ground, curling around the base of the spider’s throne. 

“Nuisance would be a teensy-weensy bit of an understatement,” he says, pinching his fingers and tentacles unable to remain still in the face of the Duke’s frustration. “He’s a disgrace to _ everything we stand for_!”

Remus feels the shadows darken around his eyes and knows that blue-green rings must be blooming along his skin. The stone beneath his feet starts to moisten with the viscid tar of his ink. Malice however, appears unmoved, the wolf even smirks a little. _ And you claim to be the eldest of us all _ ? The wolf takes its time to lounge around the skull and lifts its head to yawn. _ You cry and moan like an infant. It’s pathetic. _

He’s pretty sure there is now a crick in his mustache, but Remus ignores it for the time being and resists the urge to try and strangle the faded echo of his old comrade. “And you’re just as stiff and condescending as ever. I suppose the whole being dead thing wasn’t that much of a speed bump.”

Malice casts a sundering eye towards Dark Creativity. _ Is that why you’ve come here seeking the solace of ghosts? To trade blunted barbs? Don’t waste my time. _

“No, no, no,” Remus takes a stride forward and brings a hand up to his chest. “I’ve come to offer a deal.” The wolf holds eye contact, but says nothing, prompting the Duke to lick his lips and then continue. “Give me the power to match Virgil, and I swear to bring the Dark sides to prominence.”

The wolf tilts its head back and laughs, a howling cackle that echoes in the gables of the mountain cave. _ Give! _ Malice chortles. _ We gave the spider nothing. Paranoia took his power as all Dark sides do; through strength and cunning and guile. _ Malice’s ears pull back and its lips curl in a snarl. _ If the little one’s choice of what to do with that power disturbs you so, then challenge him for it. _

Remus spits at the wolf’s feet. “Don’t pretend you approve of what Virgil’s done, bending over for the Light sides. And challenge him- ha!” The Duke slides his hand up to his neck, where the spider had held him pinned not too long ago. “I might be a deviant but I’m not suicidal. We both know I don’t stand a chance in a straight fight.”

_ Perhaps you are simply too much of a coward, Duke. _

Remus’ left eye twitches. “Perhaps _ you _just don’t want to admit that you bet on the wrong horse. This can’t be the future you intended when you took the spider as your protege.” When the wolf’s expression goes carefully blank, Remus knows he’s struck a chord. “Tell me you didn’t feel just a little betrayed, watching from deep inside as Virgil squandered away everything you built for him. No great Kingdom of Darkness, just endless self-loathing as Paranoia abandoned his true self.” 

As one, wolf and octopus look about the dreary cave, a monument to Tartarean majesty left to fall into disrepair. Remus says, “You hate it, don’t you?”

The wolf’s hackles rise. _ It doesn’t matter. Our power is Paranoia’s now. _

“But it doesn’t have to be.”

A huff. _ We are dead, Remus. You are begging at shadows, nothing more. _

Remus clicks his tongue and makes a sweeping gesture at the wolf. “Ah ah! But nothing’s ever really gone, now is it?” He claps his hands and opens his arms to the cocoons hanging before them. “Forms may change, but we are always here, within Thomas. No matter how small our influence.”

For a moment there is silence, and then the wolf steps up beside the Duke, looking over the cave. _ And what do you hope to gain with the support of that combined influence? _

A snap of his fingers and the morningstar is back in Remus’ hand. He palms the weapon’s spiked end. “Even ground. I bring the spider here, and all I ask is that you and the others stand aside.” With a twist of will, the steadily growing pool of ink in the center of the cave begins to smoke. Green smog that flutters like a ribbon of starlight coalesces in its wake and Remus urges it out of the cave’s mouth with a blown kiss. 

_ Quite the invitation, _ Malice notes as the sky beyond the mountain darkens, only to the illuminate in cascading greens. _ Paranoia will come for you. _

Remus grins. “Good.” Then he turns to the wolf, spits in his hand, and offers it out. “Do we have an accord?”

Malice’s form fades from view, disappearing back into the skull still resting at the foot of the throne. _ You will have your chance, _ the wolf’s voice echoes. _ But I warn you, Paranoia may have changed, may call himself Anxiety, or Virgil, or whatever he wishes, but I chose the spider for a reason. Even without our power to fuel him this will not be an easy battle for you. _

Remus considers this for a moment, wiping his dripping hand on the front of his coat, and quirks an eyebrow. “And I think your love blinds you, wolfy boy.” The octopus clicks his tongue. “Who knew you were sentimental. Didn’t you hear? Virgil’s calling Morality his Daddy now.”

He turns out to look over the woods and sees a storm gathering on the east horizon. Deep violet clouds, almost black, flashing with lightning and rushing west at great speed. Electricity fills the air and behind him, the cave vibrates with anticipation, welcoming its master home. Remus grins and steps back into the shadow of the cave. He says,

“Come and get me, itsy-bitsy.”


	26. Chapter 26

“Deceit…” 

He dreams of early years. Of sleeping the heat of the noon sun away and resting his serpentine body on the bough of some tree, secure in the knowledge that the spider is keeping watch below. Of Paranoia taking his own turn to sleep, head cradled against Deceit’s shoulder while spider legs curl around them in subconscious reflex. 

“Deceit… wake up…”

He dreams of the spider running the tips of his claws along the smooth plane of his scales, brushing his lips against the back of his reptilian hand and assuring Deceit that there was nothing there to hide. The others could say whatever they wished, to Paranoia he was perfect. Exactly what was needed.

“I don’t think we’re getting anywhere like this.”

Deceit lets himself be wrapped in the memory of a time when he and Virgil were the other’s whole world. Of a promise to carry each other to the peak of what a Dark side could achieve.

“Move over, Pat. I’ve got it.” Then something slaps him in the face. “Hey, Deceit! Wake up!”

As he is pulled from his reverie, the serpent feels alarm bells ring. He sees a crowd gathered around him, senses no hint of the spider, and has a deep and foreboding sense that something has gone wrong. The serpent hisses and strikes out with his hand.

Claw meets flesh and there is a spray of blood followed by a flurry of activity. Deceit snaps upright, all at once present and awake, and sees the prince stumbling back into the arms of Logic, holding a hand to his bleeding cheek. Some distance between them, Patton stands with hands against his mouth and alternating shocked and concerned looks between Creativity and Deceit.

As blood seeps from between Roman’s fingers, the prince narrows his eyes. “The hell was _ that _for!?”

Deceit bares his fangs and lifts himself to a crouch, darting looks around the tent in search of Virgil. “You _ slapped _me!”

Roman’s mouth drops open, offended. “You _ scratched _ my _ face_!” He pulls his hand back and gestures to the impressive collection of parallel cuts running from the arc of his cheekbone to his chin. “It hurt!”

Behind Roman, Logan rolls his eyes and Deceit is slightly surprised to see the logical side give him a helpless shrug. As if to say, sorry, but what can you do? Deceit arches his human eyebrow. “Next time,” he tells the prince, “think twice before waking up a Dark side without warning.” Honestly, Roman was lucky Deceit just lashed out with his claws, rather than giving him a face full of venom.

The prince sniffs. “Well fine, but it wasn’t like we had much of a choice. We’re kind of in the middle of a crisis here.”

“...right.” Tension in the room beginning to ease, Deceit takes another, more thorough look around and confirms that the spider really is nowhere to be seen. The serpent’s hackles slowly begin to rise. “Where’s Virgil?”

As expected, the mood immediately drops. Roman forgets the blood slipping down his cheek and staining his jacket collar as he stares down at the ground and balls his fists. “...we don’t know,” he says.

“You don’t _ know_?” Deceit jumps to his feet. “What do you mean you don’t know?” He makes as if to lunge at the prince when the flat end of a spear is pressed against his chest. Deceit hisses as he notices the human form of the fox for the first time. “_You little shit_.”

“Don’t even think about it, pal,” says Vi.

Deceit takes the spear by the haft and shoves it away. “Back off. I have no qualms about ending your existence, you overinflated daydream.”

“You want a round two? Go right ahead, your boyfriend’s not around to save your ass this time.” The fox’s blue eyes spark with neon light, but before either of them can act on the issued challenge Logan takes the figment by the arm and wheels him out of the tent. The teacher sends a look to Patton just before he disappears, nodding to Deceit.

“Twerp,” the serpent grumbles. Then he looks back to where Roman and Patton are trading silent glances. “Now, someone explain to me what’s going on.”

Patton looks slightly ill, crossing his arms and tucking his hands against his sides. He looks to Roman who, to be fair, looks little better, with dark bags under his eyes and hair slightly askew. The prince takes a breath and meets the serpent’s eyes.

“Night fell while you were asleep,” he says. “And when we woke, Virgil was gone.”

“Gone where?”

“West, we think. But with his ability to teleport we have no way of effectively following him without you.” The prince looks begrudging, but does hold Deceit’s gaze when he admits it. “We… _ I _ need your help to find him.”

Huh. “...Well, that’s fair,” says Deceit. “But that hardly explains why Virgil would just-” he trails off as Patton draws his gaze. Morality is gnawing on his lip, staring down at his toes and twitching like he is preparing to bolt at any second. Deceit lets his tongue slip out to taste the air and startles.

Patton has a secret.

Ignoring the way Roman is staring at him confused, Deceit extends the reach of his aspect and focuses the glowing gaze of his serpent eye on the fidgeting Light side. Not just a secret, he realizes. Morality has uncovered one as well. A secret that has the aroma of bone and dust and fear.

“You.” He steps towards Patton and takes a deep breath of his nervous scent, nose hovering an inch from Morality’s jugular. “We need to talk.”

“Huh?” Patton jumps and starts playing with the knot of his hoodie. “W-What do you mean?”

Roman steps towards them. “Hey now, leave him alone.”

“Shut up and get out.” Without looking away from their moral compass, Deceit thrusts an arm in the direction of the tent flap. “Now,” he says. 

For a moment the prince looks as if he will refuse, but then Patton sends Creativity a weak smile. “I-It’s okay, Roman. I’ve got this.” He emphasizes the point with a trembling thumbs up. Roman stares at them a while, but when Patton doesn’t say or do anything else, he seems to accept the request.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.” The prince turns, and with a rustle of the tent flap, leaves Morality and Deceit alone. The serpent admits to himself a certain amount of admiration for the Light side’s courage.

“So,” says Patton, trying his best to smile. “H-How can I- um, how can I help you?”

Deceit snatches the Light side’s shifting face by the chin and forces their eyes to meet. “You know. Don’t you.” It’s not a question. And depending on how the moral aspect answers, Deceit has every intention of sealing Patton’s throat and whisking him somewhere the other sides will _ never _find him.

“...know what?”

Deceit can’t help but be a little impressed. “You put it together. Even before the others did.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean-”

“I know you’re lying, Patton.” He angles the fatherly persona’s chin upwards and leans in closer, watching the flicker of fear that passes over Morality’s face. It almost, but doesn’t quite, mask the glimmer of quiet knowing that lives there. “Just admit it. You can believe me when I say, it’s the only chance you have.”

Patton swallows, and Deceit can feel the nervous gulp through the scales of his palm. “Y-You… you know too?”

The serpent’s face cracks in a grin, serpent jaw split and severe. “Don’t change the subject. Talk.” 

There is turmoil behind Morality’s expression. A dilemma playing itself out too fast for Deceit to follow in its entirety, but some of his protective aggression eases when he gleans a measure of unconditional compassion at its core. Watery eyes meet Deceit’s through a pair of lenses.

“Virgil is…. Virgil and the spider are-”

Deceit claps a hand over Patton’s mouth before he can complete the statement. He drops his grip of the Light side’s chin and brings a clawed finger up to his lips. “That’s all I needed. No sense cluing in any eavesdroppers.” His scales itch with a warning. Somewhere outside the tent, Roman is listening.

Patton nods against his hand and lifts a hand up to Deceit’s wrist to pull it down. They wander over to the far side of the tent and huddle closer. Patton brings a hand up to the side of his mouth and whispers, “...is this better?”

When the uncomfortable prickling of his scales eases, Deceit nods. “Keep your voice down, but yes. Now explain to me what exactly you plan to do with that information, and no lying.” He takes Patton’s arm by the wrist and lays the pad of his middle and index fingers against the moral side’s pulse point. His serpent eye glows.

Morality licks his lips and glances down, his fingers twitching. “I-I… nothing. I just- I can’t believe it, really.” Patton shudders, and through his pulse Deceit can feel the fluttering pace of his heart, like a fleeing rabbit. “That Virgil, _ my _ Virgil could be that… that _ thing_.”

Deceit prickles. “Don’t pretend you understand or have any right to judge. The things Paranoia had to do to survive, so _ we _could survive.” He shakes his head and avoids Patton’s searching gaze. “Just be grateful we were the ones who came out on top. Thomas would be a very different person had Malice or Rage taken prominence.”

Patton flinches. “...oh. I guess that’s true.” The Light side bites his free thumbnail and frowns. “Wait… Roman cut off one of the spider’s legs...” Patton sucks in a breath and all at once lunges at Deceit, clinging to the Dark side’s arms. “Oh my gosh, is Virgil ok!? My sweet boy, we’ve been hunting the spider this whole time and-” the Light side’s strength seems to give out and he sinks to his knees. The hand not still gripped by Deceit goes to cover his mouth and smother a wail. “...the things I’ve said,” he mumbles. Patton shakes his head again. “We need to tell the others.”

“No.” 

“Deceit-”

“I said, no.” The serpent crouches beside Morality. “Look at me. No, Patton- look at me,” he waits until the fatherly persona composes himself enough to look up. “We can’t. It has to come from Virgil.”

“But that would be _ lying_.”

Deceit rolls his eyes. “Obviously. But if you know and the others don’t, I assume Virgil wasn’t the one to tell you?”

A nod. “He… he told Roman that they were alike. That Anxiety was split from Paranoia.”

“Of course, he did.” Deceit reaches a hand up and rustles the curling mess of his hair out of sheer and utter frustration. “The idiot’s terrified of what you and Thomas would think if you knew. And that stupid fox didn’t help matters either with the stunt he pulled.” Deceit hisses low under his breath.

“So… what do we do?” asks Patton.

The serpent snaps his fingers, thinking. “For now, find him so I can smack that stupid spider over the head for leaving without me.” Deceit climbs to his feet. “After that, enough games. You are going to tell Virgil that Thomas and the rest of you love and accept him, regardless of who or what he was in the past.”

“R-Really?” Patton smiles and gets to his feet. “You- I thought… I mean, it always seemed like you were trying to get Virgil to go back to the Dark sides,” he says.

Deceit huffs and crosses his arms, feeling the human half of his face heat up. “Well, I was. But…”

Patton smiles, wringing his hands together and nodding his head. “But…” he urges.

The giddy expression on Morality’s face makes the serpent want to gag. He wipes a hand down his face and pretends it does not come away wet. “Forget it. This is all part of my plan, it’s… this will end with Virgil choosing me.” It's a lie, and not a good one. The game is over, he realizes, looking into Morality’s heart. And Deceit was never going to win. All that matters now is making sure Virgil knows it too.

Deceit’s not sure how long they stand in silence. But the deafening quiet is broken by a gasp when Patton wraps the Dark side in his arms and lays his forehead on his shoulder. 

“...thank you.”

Deceit huffs. “Don’t. Really, don’t.” Even still, he revels in the novel comfort of the Light side’s hug for a moment before coughing and pulling away. “Okay, enough. Before anything else we need to find Virgil.”

“Are you okay?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He dodges out of the way when Morality makes a grab for his arm and beelines for the tent entrance. The desert winds snap the tent flaps open in his wake. “Pretty boy!”

Roman jumps as they step out into the open, lunging away from the tent as if he hadn’t been trying to listen the entire time. Out in the sand he can see Thomas and Logan sitting side by side on the stone dais, their host with his head in his hands. Thomas perks up as they make their entrance.

“Guys!” he says, jumping up and waving.

“Thomas.” Deceit nods back to his host, still unsure of how exactly to interact with the human outside of one of his vlogs. Not to mention his normal antagonistic role. So, rather than try he turns back to Roman. “Tell me what happened before Virgil left.”

The prince opens his mouth, thinks for a moment, then shuts it again with a helpless shrug. “I’m… I’m actually not sure. Patton was the last one awake.” Thomas and Logan wander closer and as a collective they turn to the moral side.

“Patton?” asks Deceit. He crosses his arms and feels a pinch in the scales running across his back as his shoulders bunch. He doesn’t like the look Morality is shooting him. He doesn’t like that he can sense the bubbling platitudes the fatherly persona is barely keeping himself from spouting. Right now he doesn’t need or want to hear them. He shoots a warning the moment Patton opens his mouth and breathes out a relieved exhale when Morality visibly swallows.

“The sky turned green,” Patton says, and Deceit can feel his nostrils flare, claws digging into the skin of his arm. “Virgil said- Virgil mentioned Remus and then disappeared.”

“The _ Duke_?” asks Thomas. “Are you saying Remus did something?” 

Deceit frowns and runs a scaled finger down the human half of his face. “You said the light was coming from the west?” he directs this towards Patton, who nods. “Virgil’s realm is to the west. The octopus is based in the south.” The serpent starts pacing. “If Remus is in the west it can’t mean anything good. Logan?”

Logic snaps his head up from where he’d been staring at some middle distance and quirks his head.

“Have you noticed anything change since everyone woke up? Any shift in Thomas’ behavior?”

“Mine?” Their host puts a hand to his chest and retreats a step. “What do you mean? Why would I be acting any different?” 

“Logan, quickly. Anything at all?” He steps closer to the teacher, who starts tapping his foot and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. Logan sends a look towards Thomas and shakes his head.

Deceit sighs. “Good. That means we still have a chance.”

“Chance?” asks Thomas. “Chance at what?”

The serpent snatches Morality’s hand in his and holds the other one out to Logic. Logan takes it, if a little hesitantly. Deceit rotates his view from Thomas to Roman. “Dark Creativity and Paranoia have never liked one another, barely tolerated at the best of times. The only reason Remus would ever send up a signal that blatant from Virgil’s realm would be if he intends to challenge the spider.”

“Challenge him?” asks Roman as he takes Patton’s offered hand and links the other with Thomas’. 

“I’m talking about a coup,” says Deceit. “It would be a death sentence for him to poke at the spider otherwise. And I’m sure you know as well as I do, Roman, that suicide is not the Duke’s style.”

Roman frowns. “Not even a little. Damn, that means Virgil’s walking into a trap meant for that creature.” 

Deceit hisses low in his throat but Patton squeezes his hand before it can become something the others can hear. “...right. So, we need to move fast.” He looks around their gathered circle and takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Wait,” Thomas mutters. “We’re not about to get scattered like last time, are we? I really don’t feel like getting dropped out of the sky again.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” asks Vi, once again in fox form and striding towards Roman’s back. “Am I not invited into your little kumbaya circle?”

Roman bites his lip and looks over his shoulder. “Vi, go back to the castle. If things go wrong I need you to rally the other figments and be prepared to defend the Light side.”

The fox’s ears flatten and he turns his head closer to Creativity. “You sure, boss? If you’re going after the Duke you’ll need someone to watch your back.” A cursory look is sent to the rest of them and Deceit greets it with bared fangs. The fox growls back. “And I don’t think this bunch has it in them. Besides, the snake will probably turn on you the first chance he gets.”

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.” Roman turns to Deceit. “Do it.”

The serpent doesn’t need to be told twice. He closes his eyes and follows the silken threads of foreboding and dread hanging in the air to their source. “Hang on,” he says, and they’re off. 

  
  


They touch down in a jumble, Deceit catching Patton and Logan by their hands and keeping them upright while Roman and Thomas collapse in a groaning heap. “Well,” Thomas says with a painful grunt, massaging the back of his head. “At least we’re on the ground.” When it looks like they’ve all made it in one piece, Deceit casts his head upwards, frowning when he sees dark storm clouds masking the mountain’s peak.

“Indeed. It appears we’ve touched down on the foothills of the mountain near the center of the Dark woods. I presume that the mountain itself is Paranoia’s realm, yes?”

“Logan!” Patton cheers, pulling away from Deceit to wrap the logical side in a hug. “You can talk again!” Logic grunts as Patton’s arms tighten around him.

“Y-yes, Patton. I am well aware.”

Deceit rolls his eyes and offers a hand to help their host to his feet. He hesitates for a moment but Thomas does take it, and to Deceit’s surprise, does not flinch when his skin meets the smooth scale of the serpent’s palm. “Well then.” He claps his hands and looks around at their host and the Light sides. “Like Logic so helpfully pointed out, I dropped us a short distance from the mountain itself. Any closer, and you all will start feeling the effects same as in Virgil’s room.”

Logan frowns, and when a crash of thunder and lightning echoes in the sky, they all flinch and look up. “That won’t give us much time before we are left unable to function with any kind of efficiency. It is imperative we come up with some kind of strategy to combat this eventuality or our proposed rescue plan will only be doomed to failure.” 

Patton makes a noise of distress. “Deceit, what do we do?”

The serpent sighs and runs a clawed hand through his already mussed hair. “Unfortunately, I have no way of protecting any of you from Paranoia’s influence. That said, I do have a plan.”

Or at least, he has half of one. Maybe more like a quarter.

“Care to share with the class?” asks Roman, who can’t seem to stop sending glimpses upwards.

Deceit grimaces and turns to the prince. He eyes the blade at the Light side’s hip and the blood staining the shoulder of his jacket. “Well, that depends,” he says, offering the prince his hand. 

Roman crosses his arms, decidedly ignoring the open invitation, and frowns. “On what?” he asks. Deceit smirks, jagged and stressed and with tongue slipping from the cracked half of his serpent jaw. 

“Tell me, Roman. Do you trust me?”


	27. Chapter 27

The storm harkens his arrival. The air hums with the heavy flood waiting in the clouds and thunder drums across the sky with every foot his spider limbs carry him upwards, but that is nothing to the heavy constriction that applies its pressure to Virgil’s heart. Whether the feeling is anticipation or dread, he is not sure, but the organ beats in time with the rolling pound of thunder.

Patchwork hood pulled over his head, the spider touches down on the mouth of his cave just as the icy rain begins to pour. Virgil retracts his legs, frowning as the fabric of his hoodie quickly becomes saturated with water. Steady streams run from the crown of his head down his shoulders to drip from the cuff of his arm. The soles of his shoes squelch as a steady flow of runoff builds at the cavern mouth and falls from its commissures like a miniature waterfall.

Claws darkening on the ends of his fingertips, Paranoia steps into heart of his realm for the first time in what feels like a small eternity. The abyssal darkness of the cavern swathes him in shadow, deadening the purple hues of his jacket and emboldening the shadows around his eyes. It brings with it a comforting stillness, unlike the raging chaos of the sun-eating clouds outside. It might even make for a pleasant homecoming, if not for the unwanted intruder within.

“You really are the biggest piece of uninvited trash in existence,” says Virgil, pulling the hood from his head. “Leaving your stink all over my home.” As the spider steps deeper into the cavern, he grimaces as his already wet feet come into contact with another pooling liquid, this one thicker and less reflective than the rainwater outside. The inky pool shimmers green, and each of Virgil’s steps sends ripples that cascade across the grotto and dash themselves against the staircase of gathered bones.

There, Remus sits, legs crossed and chin resting on the back of a propped up palm as he waits. The Duke smiles, all teeth as he looks up from the black, indoor pond to meet the spider’s eyes. “If it isn’t our great and fearful leader.” The Duke straightens himself out and stands to his feet, sweeping into a dramatic bow. “Welcome home, Paranoia.”

Virgil growls, lip curling to expose his fangs. It takes only a cursory glance for him to notice the torn cocoon that had held Malice’s remains, and another to find the wolf’s skull sitting near the foot of his throne. The spider hisses.

“_What did you do_?” The shadows engulf the top half of his face, and he can feel his eight, watchful eyes begin to glow. With a twist of will webbing springs from the sockets and fenestra of the bones that lead up to the throne of fear and wrap themselves around the Duke. Remus staggers, but does not fall as chordlike silk with the strength of tempered steel encases him from shoulder to hip.

“O-ooh,” Dark Creativity grunts, testing his bonds. He giggles as Virgil strides towards him. “Kinky.”

The spider does not dignify the comment with a response, lifting his hand and curling it into a fist. As he does so the webbing attached to the bones constricts, forcing the Duke to his knees with a quiet splash. “_I warned you. Time and again,_” says Virgil between clenched teeth. “_And you dare show yourself here anyway? Enough; this ends, now._”

“You know,” says Remus. “Not too long ago, you looking at me like that would have left me a dribbling mess of goo on the floor. But now,” he shakes his and forces himself up to one knee. “Now you’re nothing but an overinflated pinata with nothing in it but empty condom wrappers. And I wasn’t even invited to the orgy.”

“What does that even mean?” Virgil prickles at the convoluted metaphor. The pressure around his chest is getting stronger, his breathing heavier as the inky liquid covering the cavern floor drags on his feet and the spider can’t help but feel like he has missed something. His eyes dart to and fro, searching the shadows as he closes in on his trapped prey. He wants this over with, and he wants it done now.

The long stretch from the cave entrance to the throne feels too far, his eyes keep drifting to Malice’s skull, and by the time Virgil stands before the kneeling Dark side, he is sweating from his brow. He feels poison swell above his fangs.

“I had a talk with Malice while you were out.” Remus casts a look over his shoulder to the wolf skull. “And he agrees, you’re nothing but a disappointment.”

Virgil frowns, whole body going still. “You really are insane. Malice is gone, they all are.”

“_Ah. _But that’s where you’re wrong.” 

There is something clinging to Virgil’s pant leg. He tugs his foot and hears a wet plop as whatever it is pulls away and disappears back into the ink. The spider grimaces and shifts away from the spot, only to feel a similar, sticky substance jump out and wrap around his opposite knee. The spider staggers and hears the sound of fibrous tearing.

“We’re Dark Sides, Paranoia. Our demons never leave us.”

Virgil’s eyes snap up to see Remus standing to his feet, pulling the spider’s webbing from his person like silly string. Paranoia reels, retreating back a step only to stumble and crash flat on his back when whatever it is clinging to his knee refuses to give way. Virgil shudders as ink splashes up his back and runs in thick rivulets down his shoulders. “W-What the-” he shakes his head, watching while Remus brushes stray threads of webbing from his shoulders. “That’s not possible.” 

“Is it though?” Remus taps his chin and quirks his head to the side, eyes gleaming down on Virgil’s prone form. “Or do you just lack the imagination?” The _ thing _on his leg tightens and all of a sudden retracts, dragging Virgil forward until he is on his back at the Duke’s feet. When he looks up, the spider sees Remus holding his morningstar in both hands above his head. “Watch the birdie!”

“HOLY-!” 

Legs spring from Virgil’s back on instinct, one bearing down on whatever it was gripping his knee and the other seven dragging Virgil away. He doesn’t wait to see if Remus actually completes the swing before reorienting himself into a crouch several meters away. His heart is pounding, and his legs twitch with unease. “Are you _ insane_!”

“Hmm.” Remus hums, swinging the morningstar with one hand while the other plays with the end of his mustache. “Guess you do still have some scrap to you. Good to know.”

There is a ripple in the black sludge surrounding them. Now that the spider knows to be on the lookout, he sees the watery distortion right before a tentacle arm comes surging up to grab him and springs away. He sidesteps the octopus arm and glares. “Last chance, Remus. You really want to have this fight?”

The Duke giggles and blows a kiss, flapping his hand in Virgi’s direction. “Oh, please. We both know I’m not the twin you want inside you, Virgie-poo.” The octopus gets a glob of webbing in the face for that, knocking the Dark side onto his rear while Virgil resists the urge to gag.

“_Don’t. _ _ Start_.”

Dark Creativity makes a sound of protest behind a faceful of silken webbing before managing to tear it free and climb back to his feet. “Ha! Well bend me over sideways across a satyr’s knee,” he laughs, black ink slipping from his lips. “I didn’t know asphyxiation was your thing.”

Virgil shakes his head, lip curling in disgust. “There really is nothing redeemable about you, is there?”

The Duke’s grin fades, laughter dying into an eerily blank mask as he squares his shoulders. Virgil feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as blue-green rings blossom along the Dark sides exposed skin. Remus lifts his chin and gives a look down his nose of such complete and utter contempt that Virgil is given a reminder in cold, hard clarity of why he is brother to the one they call Prince. 

“If there ever was,” says Remus, thick, writhing tentacles slipping free from his back to bathe in the inky pool surrounding them. “You can be sure what little of it Roman let me keep died with all our brothers on the altar of your power.”

The spider’s instincts go haywire. 

He feels the rippling wake vortex in the water before his conscious mind can register it, senses the shifting air at his neck and manages to flip over and dodge the tentacle that sweeps for his head, but only just. Virgil still scents spoiled fish in the porous flesh of the tentacle, feels the sweeping vacuum of air as the powerful limb brushes the edges of his fringe, and it makes his heart skip a beat. 

The spider is breathless as he clears the blindside attack and with a quiet _thwip _of webbing, pulls himself up and into the shadowy landscape of stalactites marking the cavern’s rooftop rather than fall back to the ground. Just as well too, as he flies upward, more tentacles surge from the black depths to swarm his former position. And when they pull back empty-handed, Remus’ head snaps upward and he snarls, throwing another tentacle up to crash against rocky projections. The cave shakes and rocks tumble from the cavern ceiling along with generous, sloughing driblets of blood. Virgil flinches as one particularly wild flail comes alarmingly close to his hiding spot.

Eventually though, Remus seems to give up the wild attack, and pulls his shredded limb away. “Are we really going to play this game of hide and seek, Virgie?” he calls. 

Using his spider limbs for support Virgil presses himself deeper into the shadow of one of the closest rocky columns and catches his breath. “_Fuck_,” he curses to himself as he notes the damage done to the architecture of his home. 

“Credit where it's due, I suppose this is how you did it. How you killed our family,” says Remus from down below, stepping away from the bone mound and closer to the center of the cavern. “Hiding in the shadows, waiting for Deceit to lure the others out in the open for you.”

Remus throws his arms out wide, morningstar dangling from his left hand, and turns in a slow circle. “Well here I am!”

Paranoia doesn’t take the bait. Roman -and probably Patton too if he were being honest- might be the type to want to face the moral battle along with the physical. Do the whole, poetic symmetry between the ideological and physical thing, but not him. Honestly, the spider does not care one way or the other if he can convince the Duke of the validity of his actions. He’d need to believe in it himself to do that.

No, he only needs to win, survive. Make it to another day.

To that effect, Virgil crawls his way closer to the cavern wall. Farther down he can spy the hanging cocoons of the other Dark sides and sends another tangled mass of webbing to collide with one on the opposite side of the cave. The dark mockery of a chandelier creaks, groaning as it spins in place and Remus turns on it.

“There you are.” One of the Duke’s tentacles sweeps forward, moving to encircle the cocoon, and Virgil attacks in its wake.

Riding in the shadow of a wave of black sludge, Paranoia launches himself from the wall, sending two more nets of webbing to catch on either of the octopus’ human hands. Both hit home, the left one going so far as to knock the morningstar from Remus’ grip and send it clattering to the ground. The Duke stumbles, glancing down at his bound fists. “What the-”

Virgil lands with feet planted in the center of the Duke’s back and brings him crashing face first to the ground. The black ink pools away, forming a circle of clean stone surrounding them, presumably to keep the Duke from drowning himself in his own filth. From there Virgil wastes no time, using four of his spider limbs to impale the tentacles that come surging back towards him.

As he stakes the writhing limbs to to the ground, Remus hisses, trying to lash out with the elbow of his left arm. One of Virgil’s eight eyes catches the movement, and he traps the arm before it has a chance to make contact. He pins Dark Creativity there, pressing a knee between the Duke’s shoulder blades while one hand grips his dominant arm and the other shoves his face into the ground.

“_Talk_.” Virgil hisses, baring his fangs. “_What did _ you _ hope to gain by _ doing this, Remus?” As the reverberating voices stutter in Virgil’s throat, the spider blinks, confused while Remus laughs. Poison drips from Paranoia’s fangs and he digs his claws deeper into the Duke’s flesh. “What have you done?” he demands, although it comes with far less gravitas without the echoing undercurrent of the Dark sides’ voices speaking in time with his own.

Remus chuckles. “Heh, why? Things not working like they should?” The Duke licks his lips the best he can while half his face is plastered against the ground. “I hear they have medication for that.”

Rage blurs the spider’s vision. “You come into _ my _ home, spread your filth across _ my realm. _And you think you’re in any position to make jokes!?”

The Duke sticks his tongue out and waggles his eyebrow. “When you put it like that, how could I possibly resist?” Which is exactly when the octopus spits ink into the spider’s eyes. “Payback’s a _ bitch_,” he says, shrieking in laughter.

Paranoia hisses, reeling back and limbs lashing out blindly as his hands go to his face. The tar-like liquid burns in all eight of his eyes and even as he wipes the great majority of the ink away, it leaves black clouds throughout his vision. “You little-”

Something long and powerful rams into Virgil’s side, slamming the air from his lungs as the spider flies through the air. He lands hard, with blood on his lips and absolutely no sense of orientation as inky water crashes over him. His legs lay sprawled outwards, twitching and unsteady.

“You were saying, sweetums?” Hands settle on his shoulders and pin him to the ground. Virgil can feel as the shallow pool of black tar tickles his ears. “Ah, nevermind.” A mustachioed lip brushes his cheek while the Duke’s nose runs along the curve of Virgil’s ear. “Let’s just see where this takes us, hm?”

“Get. Your filthy. Hands. Off me.” Virgil drives his knee upwards, and uses the slimy point of contact of Remus’ nose to his ear to guide the swing of his arm. The octopus gasps, groaning and going stiff enough for the spider’s strike to hit home. 

As soon as the weight is off of him, Virgil sends a string of webbing back up to the cavern ceiling and pulls himself away. He hides among the shadows, eyes tearing and bleeding away his eyeshadow in an attempt to purge the remainder of the Duke’s ink. A fruitless endeavor he supposes, considering the same disgusting liquid has by this point soaked him head to toe.

“Ha ha ha!” He can hear the Duke laughing below, and when he peeks around the column of stone, Virgil sees Remus sway to his feet, red in the face and clutching himself below the belt. “Nice- nice to see you still have this much fight… in you. Even… mmhg, even without you leeching power from the others.”

What? The grip of Virgil’s spider legs almost slips in shock and rock crumbles away from one of the stalactites to clatter to the ground. Virgil throws his voice across the cavern, willing the acoustics to mask his location. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

Far below, the Duke stops moving. “Haven’t you felt it? That hollow ache in your chest, the emptiness?” Remus wanders his way towards the stairway of bone and takes a seat, leaning back on a cluster of skulls with a stuttering sigh. “No, of course not. You don’t even know what your own power feels like anymore.” He shoves double birds in the air. “How would you know when it’s gone?”

Virgil’s hands twitch. “You’re lying,” he says. 

Remus blows a raspberry. “Not my department, emo. Nah, all you’ll ever get from me is the God’s honest truth.”

“Or your perception of it at least.” The spider casts himself in shadows and crawls closer to the center of the mountain. “So, that’s it? You think if I don’t have the others’ power you’ll be able to get rid of me and have the freedom to run rampant?”

The Duke shrugs and hauls himself to his feet. “Oh, I know I can. It’s just a matter of how much _ fun _you’ll make it for me.” There is a power, pure and Dark, that flows from Remus as he stands there. Something primal and powerful and beastly that calls to the same killing instinct in the spider. A bloodlust, battling against a deep-seated fear for one’s own survival. The spider’s blood pounds in his ears. The gauntlet, clear and presently thrown, is taken up.

A will not quite his own compels Virgil to drop from his shelter of stalactites and onto the wet floor with a subtle _ splish_. His legs extend out and around him, shadows arcing in their wake. “_Even if you managed it_,” says Paranoia, eyes aglow in definitive condemnation. The spider reaches deep into its aspect, filling itself with the influence of its realm and sees into the heart of its would-be usurper.

“_Even if you consumed my essence and brought all of Darkness under your will. Still, nothing and no one would love you_.”

Booming thunder rocks the mountain, and the walls shake and tremble at the force. The looming, broken flesh of an incomprehensibly gargantuan spider groans above their heads, raised and tucked back and behind the throne of fear. As the storm causes the body to shake, the legs poised in every corner of the mindscape tremble.

Far below, at the base of the mountain, Thomas Sanders feels a knot of hopeless dread settle in his heart.

“_You will fade, unmourned_,” the spider continues, staring with each of its eight eyes into the octopus’ carefully neutral face. “_Unwanted by your host. A plague, even among your own_.”

Splinters are driving themselves into the softest parts of Remus’ spirit. Virgil can see it, even as he allows the part of himself still completely and wholly Dark to take over. Each word is a dagger, and he recognizes the same twitching tremble at the corner of Remus’ lip that he has seen time and again in Roman when the prince loses faith in his own ability to create. 

Insecurity. Doubt. Self-loathing. 

The spider’s mouth waters with it.

The Duke shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath, shoulders rising and falling in time with the stretched inhale and subsequent exhale. A smirk, twisted and broken, pulls itself onto Remus’ face even before he opens his dark, gleaming emerald eyes. Tentacles slip from the Dark side’s back and twist themselves about. He lifts his hands in a helpless shrug and shakes his head. The Duke takes a step closer to the spider like there isn’t ink pouring from the corners of his eyes.

“Sticks and stones~,” Remus sings. And then there is no more talking.

From outside the cavern mouth, the gathered waters of rainfall spoil and darken by an outgoing rush of ink. A thick black ichor pours down the mountainside like weeping tears. Unseen but not unfelt by sides and host who wander below, an acromantula and kraken do battle in the heart of darkness.


	28. Chapter 28

They hear the claxon of battle long before they catch even its smallest glimpse. Keeping tight grip of Patton’s trembling hand, Logan leads Thomas and Morality through the tight, upsloping passages of the mountain cave system and towards its inevitable peak. The headlamp on his head providing a steady beam of light to guide their way. Wiping away the trickle of salt from his lip with a sweep of his tongue, Logic braces himself against a stalagmite formation as the mountain shakes.

Buffeted by distance and stone, the raging storm in the sky above sets a metronome of thundering beats that urge along the steadily accelerating heart rate of host and sides. Logan can feel it, even in his own chest, and moves away from the stalagmite to grip at the fabric of his shirt and wring the length of his tie.

He says, “We… we’re almost there. Our approximate altitude is- is consistent with the height of the mountain.” A glimpse over his shoulder reveals Thomas pressing the heel of his palm against his head while Patton bites his lip and plasters his free hand against an ear. Morality’s eyes are slammed shut and sweat beads across his brow as Patton tries desperately to block out the sounds becoming louder and louder as they approach.

Logan dearly wishes Deceit had agreed with his suggestion to leave these two behind. Transport them both back to the safety of Roman’s palace rather than deliver them into the very heart of Paranoia’s realm. As the mountain echoes with sounds of tearing stone and frothing hisses, Logic finds it hard to understand why the Dark side had objected so heavily.

Yes, if in fact Anxiety was being swept along on his other half’s warpath, they might need the influence of their moral compass and host to sway his course from Paranoia. However, the risks in Logic’s mind far outweigh that advantage.

Virgil is… important to Logan. Anxiety offers a solace of reality the others often overshadow with their glowing dedication to belief and optimism. He is the quiet promise of companionship without need for words or niceties when Logic wishes to be sequestered in his room for work. A dedicated student, always seeking information and knowledge of the world to better understand and diminish the fears that might plague their host. Logic is fond beyond words of Virgil.

But, by all evidence Logan has gathered, Paranoia is not these things. The spider is an apex predator in its ecology. A ruling figurehead, not a supplicant. If in fact the Duke has delivered an act of challenge on Paranoia’s doorstep, Logic doubts the conflict they are closing in on can be ended in any way but one. A determination of dominance.

Logan loves Virgil. But he’s seen the look of a cornered animal when Anxiety attacked Roman’s figment in the desert. The blind compulsion of instinct so antithetical to Logan’s being that it had made Logic ill to behold. If Virgil has allowed himself to be entangled in Paranoia’s war, Logan will not put Thomas and Patton at risk to try and bring him out of it.

Sweat tickles from the corner of his eyebrow and Logan sweeps his hand across an eye, palm coming back smeared with coal as the growing eyeshadow bleeds across his face. Logan frowns, looking up from his blackened skin to Patton who has similar circles forming underneath his glasses.

Somewhere close, too close for Logan’s comfort, something or someone screams.

Patton whimpers, knees buckling as he pulls his hand free of Logan’s grip and slams both palms over his ears. Morality’s head bows, and through the cloth of the cat hoodie he has pulled on, Logan can see him shake. Thomas rushes to Patton’s side and grasps his shoulders. “Pat… Pat! Buddy just hold on, we’ll get there soon.” He runs a hand down the curve of Morality’s spine. “We’ll stop this.”

Their host looks up to Logan. Thomas’ eyes are wide and his mouth slightly agape as though he wants to speak but has no words with which to verbalize the need so present in his countenance. Logan shakes his head. The screaming morphs into a maddened roar and the mountain shudders as something immense is brought slamming to the ground.

The hair on the back of Logic’s neck stands on end. No, he thinks. He doesn’t believe they can.

“We need to keep moving,” Logan says.

Thomas frowns. “Logan, I don’t think he’s going to move.” Their host looks down at Patton and leans in close. “Patton… Patton can you stand?”

Steeling the nerve inside his chest, Logan steps forward and kneels near Morality’s head, gently prying Thomas’ hands from the other side’s shoulders. “Patton?” he calls, reaching down to cup the sides of Morality’s face. “Patton, look at me.” He keeps his voice steady and clear, trying to speak over the clashing of beasts in the mountain and the chaotic rage of the storm in the sky.

Patton shakes his head and cringes even deeper into himself. He mumbles something that Logan can’t hear over a crash of thunder. Logic leans his head in closer. 

“...in pain,” he hears the fatherly persona say. “They sound like they’re in pain. So much- so much _ screaming_.” There are tears in the corners of Patton’s eyes and they form streaks down his steadily growing eyeshadow.

Logic cannot imagine what being so close to a battle between Dark Creativity and Paranoia is doing to the empathetic side. He does not know how to help. “Think about Virgil,” he decides is a safe enough topic as he trades an alarmed look with Thomas. “There’s nothing you can do for them. We need to focus on finding Anxiety, then we’ll get you out of here.”

Much to Logan’s distress, rather than redirecting Morality’s attention, his words seem to make things worse as Patton wails. A head of curling hair presses itself into Logan’s chest and he finds his arms full of whimpering Morality. 

“I-I don’t know what to do, Lo,” he cries. “I’m not supposed to tell, _ I’m NOT_. B-But there’s so much HURT, I can’t-” hands grip the fabric of his shirt and Logan cradles Morality closer.

“Patton I, I don’t understand.”

The hands gripping his shirt tighten and Patton takes a deep, purposeful breath. “Promise me we won’t leave without him. We don’t leave here without Virgil.” 

Somehow, Thomas looks both saddened and relieved when he hears this, gently prying Morality’s hands from Logan and guiding him up to his feet. “Of course, Pat,” he says, smiling when he finally catches Patton’s gaze. “We’ll knock some sense into him and get the heck out of here. Promise.” 

Patton looks unsteady, the circles under his eyes dark as he takes Thomas’ hand and turns forward. When Logan finds himself the new center of the moral side’s attention he flinches. He knows Patton wants a promise from him too; the problem is, Logic is not one to make promises he cannot guarantee. So, he won’t. Logan dips his head and grunts, forcing himself to stretch his lips in some vague parody of a smile before turning and striding ahead. He’ll let the other two perceive that as they will.

They continue on their winding path, using the increasing volume of battle as their guide up until Logan takes a step and feels his shoe startle a shallow pool of liquid. “Hold on,” Logan throws out an arm to block Thomas and Patton’s approach.

“Find something?” asks Thomas.

Logan doesn’t answer right away. Kneeling to the ground he angles the beam of his headlamp down into the pool, flinching as the light is reflected back against an oily black surface. Not water then. Logic takes a piece of rock from the ground and tosses it a few meters ahead, listening as it falls into the dark pool with a dense _ thunk_. Ebony ripples hurtle back in their direction and bring with it Logan’s dawning realization.

“It’s ink.”

“Ink?” Thomas is suddenly at Logan’s side and dipping the tip of two fingers into the liquid, grimacing as his thumb smears the oily substance across his fingers. “Ugh, where did it come from?”

Logan grimaces as he and Thomas stand back to their feet. “Remus,” he says, as Patton presses a bottle of hand sanitizer into Thomas’ hands. “He’s an octopus. This must be coming from him.” 

Thomas takes the bottle in one hand and blinks when the potent smell of sanitizer fills the air. “We must be getting close then.”

“It would appear so,” says Logan. It is by unpleasant necessity that the three of them find themselves striding through the black, tarry substance. Logan can feel himself grimacing with each slosh of ink that splashes up under the cuff of his pants and soaks his leg. 

It is distasteful, but they carry on regardless, following the deepening pool and the sounds of struggle until out of the din, voices appear. There are no discernable words, but the unseen figures spit and roar at one another as host and sides pick up their pace.

Logan sincerely hopes Deceit is making good time with Roman. He does not want them to be the only ones present when they arrive. Even if Virgil is fully cognizant and on their side when they arrive, Logan does not anticipate Anxiety alone being able to protect them from Paranoia and Dark Creativity.

“Hey guys, do you smell that?” Patton splashes forward and taps his nose. “Do you?”

Thomas frowns. “You mean the dead fish and ink?”

Patton shakes his head. “No, rain!” Without so much as another sentence of explanation Patton turns on his heel and rushes forward. “We’re almost there!”

“Patton, wait!”

Logan rushes after the other side, Thomas close on his heels. They find themselves standing at the end of a passage, a single carved-out burrow exiting above their heads with black ink pouring from it’s lip in a steady, circular waterfall. A breeze carries the musk of rainwater and mountain air across their faces. Patton pulls the hood of his cat sweater over his head and ducks through the pouring liquid.

Logan watches through a distorted image as Patton points up into the opening. “Up there!” he calls. “Logan, come help me up!”

“Are you sure?” The sounds of battle are coming from very close by. 

“Hurry up!”

“Okay, hold on, Pat!” Thomas it seems, needs no other explanation as their host grimaces and ducks through the ink to help hoist Patton upwards. They manage to get Morality onto Thomas’ shoulders, but as Patton reaches desperately for the slippery lip of the burrow, they stumble and almost fall.

Logan sighs. “Wait a moment,” and joins them. With his help to steady Patton by the thighs, the fatherly persona manages to grab hold of the ledge. 

“I-I… I can’t pull myself up. Can someone give me a boost?”

“On it,” Thomas grits. “Logan, you got it?”

“Yes.” Logan squats down to one knee and then lifts himself so that one of Patton’s feet is pressed to his shoulder. Then he pushes himself to a standing position, groaning as Patton’s weight causes his muscles to strain. “H-Hurry, Patton.”

“Almost~ got it!” The foot is suddenly clear of Logan’s shoulder and the teacher groans, rotating his arm as the joint screams. “Alright, now you Logan.” Patton’s head pokes back through the burrow and he offers an arm. “Thomas will give you a boost and I’ll pull.”

And so it goes. A quick boost and a close call of lifting Thomas later and all three of them flop down into a pool of sloshing black ink. “Okay, now where are we?” asks Thomas. After giving a moment for their shaking arms and legs to steady, their host struggles to his feet. He groans, rotating and cracking his neck before turning on his heel and freezing on the spot. “Oh fuck.”

“_Thomas_!” Patton gasps at the use of profanity and turns to look. He then abruptly joins Thomas in giving his best impression of a wax figurine. “Oh fudge cookies.”

“What are you two looking at?” Logan stands to his feet, wiping uselessly at the ink that has hopelessly stained his arms by this point and wonders just how deep the now foot deep pool gets. He turns and follows Patton and Thomas’ line of sight upwards. “Oh.”

He stares into the body of Paranoia. 

“T-That-That’s a...uh. That’s a big spider,” says Thomas. Big, doesn’t even begin to describe it. Logan’s mouth goes dry as he tries to reconcile in his head that something of that kind of size could possibly move. “I-Is it Paranoia?” their host asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“It can’t be,” says Logan. He can still hear the sound of Paranoia and Dark Creativity fighting further ahead. And besides, the body itself is too still. Just like the leg he’d observed in Deceit’s realm. It looks dead. Logan frowns and trudges forward, stepping into even deeper ink as he watches the body of the enormous tarantula widen even more and then crack, straight through the center.

It is the sight of the hollowed out thorax that brings everything into a sudden and startling clear picture. Logan’s steps come to an abrupt stop, ink sloshing around them as he stares up into the empty corpse. No… not a corpse. A molt.

Tarantulas molt. It is a fact Logan learned from Virgil as he’d peeked over the Dark side’s shoulder on one occasion when the other side had come for a short stay in his room. He’d been reading about the care of tarantulas to better care for his own pet, Charlotte. Logan had found the factoid interesting.

But this, this was- had been, the body of Paranoia. If it was a molt, that would explain the odd stillness to the limbs he’d found in his, Roman’s, and even Deceit’s realms. The legs were just a distraction. Paranoia was somewhere else. 

The sounds of struggle intensify and Logan shakes his head, stowing the knowledge away for the moment as Patton and Thomas wade up beside him into knee-high ink. “Where are they?” Thomas asks. The cavern beyond the spider’s body echoes with the sound of cracking stone and crashing waves. The boom of thunder from beyond the mountain delivers a steady drumbeat of terror.

“Come on, we need to find Virgil!” Patton grasps Thomas and Logan’s hands and tugs them forward, barely reacting as he passes under the spider’s looming form. Logan staggers behind, thoughts still reeling as they, quite unknowingly, enter the fray. 

They are thrown into the chaos without warning. Logan barely has time to seize Patton and Thomas by the backs of their shirts and haul them both to the side as a sweeping tentacle crashes into the pool where they’d been standing not moments before. As the inky liquid sloshes over them, he can hear Patton gasp and scramble to his feet as Thomas chokes.

“Ugh, I-_ agh_.” Their host turns on his hands and knees and gags, nearly emptying his stomach as Logan pounds on his back, guiding Thomas into a crawl to take them under the shelter of the molted spider’s immense form. “Logan, where’s-mmhg, where’s Patton?” 

“Virgil!” 

The shout answers the question before Logan has time to track where their moral side has run off to. Rounding his head to the right, he spies Morality wading through the inky pool and distressingly, out of the giant spider’s protective shadow. 

“Patton, stop!” he shouts, and he wants to run. He wants to dash after his foolish counterpart and drag him back to safety but Thomas is there, pale and shivering as he tries to expel the Duke’s refuse from his body.

“G-go~” Thomas lifts a shaky hand to Logan’s arm and gives it a weak shove. “Find- find Virgil.”

Logic does not need to be told twice. Keeping an eye out to the mad sweeping of tentacles the size of tree trunks he dashes through the waist high ink and towards where he can see a stained cat hoodie bobbing ahead. “Patton!”

“WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE!” 

A bolt of pale, latticed webbing traps the end of one green tentacle before it comes down on Patton’s head and Logan catches a glimpse of purple spider limbs. Logic’s spine turns to ice as incredibly powerful arms tug on the white chord and _ pull_, lifting the tentacle up and throwing it and its owner clear across the space. He spies the Duke’s body as it crashes against the cavern wall, but that is not what makes Logan come up short.

It’s Virgil, standing crouched with spider legs spread, hissing and baring black claws on his fingertips while eight eyes glow. His hoodie is black, whether by choice or by staining by the Duke’s ink Logan isn’t sure. But regardless, as he sees Virgil launch himself across the air and towards Remus’ recovering form he is assured of one thing only.

They’ve all been lied to.

“Virgil, it’s us!” Patton is still calling out, and Logan tears his focus away to all but tackle Morality off his feet, nearly submerging them both in ink as a broken off stalactite is hurled above their heads. It says something that Logan isn’t sure who threw it.

Logan clamps a hand over Morality’s struggling mouth and pulls him back towards the molted skin. Patton tears angrily at his wrist, but he does not relent. Not even when he can feel his skin give way to blood. As they duck behind a giant pedipalp, Logan hauls Patton up so they are pressed chest to back. 

“_Quiet_,” he hisses into Patton’s ear. “That’s not Anxiety,” he says, peeking to his left to make sure Thomas is still safe. Thankfully, it seems their host has the right idea and is hiding on the molted spider’s opposite side.

Patton takes the opportunity of the momentary distraction to pull his mouth free. “Yes, it is!” he says, struggling to free himself from Logic’s arms. “Let me go, Logan!”

“No!”

Something strikes the cavern wall above their heads, and both Logic and Morality snap their heads upwards as the hollowed out body above them groans. Someone above them roars and then it is Virgil being thrown from somewhere above to crash back into the center of the cave. Logan can hear Remus laughing.

“He needs help,” Patton says.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

And besides, he doesn’t think Patton is correct in his assessment. As he watches the spider trap an attacking tentacle under his arm and tug it bodily forwards, he is both impressed and horrified by how easily instinctive it seems for Virgil to side step Remus’ human body flying towards him, catch the Duke by the back of his jacket, and hurl him into the ground. 

He’s pretty sure Virgil is winning.

“It doesn’t matter,” Patton insists, for the first time looking away from the fight to twist his neck around and try to look at Logan. “He’s family, we need to help him.”

If Logan had a heart, it would be breaking. “He’s not,” he tells Patton.

“What?”

“He’s-” Logan looks over to Thomas, who is splitting his focus between them and the fight. He does not relish the idea of having to say this multiple times, but he needs Patton to understand. “He lied, Patton. That’s not Anxiety, Anxiety never existed.” 

Spider legs drive down into the ink, presumably meant to impale the octopus, but in a move that Logan is almost certain defies the realm of possibility with a human spine, Remus manages to dodge, slipping under the surface and darting away as Virgil turns on his heel, glowing eyes searching. After a few seconds the spider gives up, and with a frustrated hiss, shoots webbing into the ceiling and pulls himself up and out of sight.

Patton goes somewhat lax in his grip. “You don’t understand,” he says.

“Patton, I know you don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. Paranoia’s not a separate side, he molted.” Molted and took the form of something that would be easier for Thomas and them to look over. It was all just another trick. “Patton, Virgil _ is _Paranoia.”

“I KNOW!”

What? Logan does not have time to register the words before the air is being forced out of his lungs. Patton’s elbow in his gut digs deep, and the sad but unremorseful look Morality gives him before pulling away is enough for Logic to know that he is telling the truth. Somehow, without telling the others, Patton had figured it out.

“VIRGIL!” The floppy ears of that ridiculous cat hoodie sway back and forth as Patton wades out into the center of the cave, using the bones that form the base of Paranoia’s throne to pull himself forward. Logan’s knees give out and he nearly submerges in ink before Thomas makes it over and catches him around the waist.

“What the heck happened?” 

“P-Patton…” You knew, he thinks to himself. You knew that Virgil was the embodiment of everything that frightens you, terrifies you. “You came to help him anyway.”

“What is he doing!?” Thomas shouts as he finally finds Patton among the rubble and the ink. “Patton, look out!”

“What have we here, Paranoia? Did you call one of your little friends to tag in for you?” Something ripples under the surface of the ink and all at once Patton is swept up in a tentacled grip. Morality shrieks, hood falling back as he is hefted into the air.

“Patton!” Thomas and Logan both shout as Remus surfaces from the depths, black sludge sloughing from his shoulders as his transformed arm brings a struggling Patton down beside him. Logan nearly surges forward, but this time _ he _is the one being held back as Thomas roots them to the ground. 

“Don’t. You said it yourself we can’t match him.”

_“I know.”_

Remus is grinning, all teeth as his human arm plays at the length of his mustache. “You’re a long way from home, Daddy.” Patton recoils as much as he can as the Duke leans forward and brushes their noses. “Come to visit your little Dukey boy?”

Morality’s lips twist in an angry pout, and much to everyone’s surprise, he pulls his head back and slams it down against Remus’ face. Thomas and Logan both gasp as a crack is audibly heard and Patton’s glasses fall into the ink pool with a small _ plop. _

“Stay. Away. From MY SON!” 

Remus’ nose is gushing blood and the Dark side does not look happy about it. Brown and silver hair drift in front of the Duke’s face and he scoffs. “The face, really? You could have at least bitten off my ear, messing up this beautiful mug is just rude.”

Patton squirms, still trying to fight his way free of the suckers and muscled flesh that hold him tight. “I _ said-_” Morality is not given the chance to finish as Remus turns away and shoves the flailing light side under the pool’s black surface.

“Sorry, what was that?” Remus asks, putting his human hand up to his ear. “Didn’t catch it.” Then he tilts his head back, chest heaving with his bubbling laughter.

“Thomas, let go!” Logan will never harm his host, but he considers, very strongly, simply dragging Thomas with him as he fights to get moving. There are air bubbles surfacing from the Duke’s side, and the ink jostles as below, Patton must be struggling, but Logan knows that if they don’t do something fast that fact will soon change.

A wave of cold dread freezes Logan’s spine, and behind him, he can feel Thomas shudder too. A dark, reverberating hiss echoes across the cave and a black void consumes the space above their heads. Remus’ laughter halts as he stares into the abyss.

“Oh, poop.”

Virgil dives from the blackness, face a mask of rage and fury and malice as he crashes down on Remus. Logan worries for a moment that one of Paranoia’s spider legs might come down on Patton, but the fear is quickly relieved when Virgil thrusts an arm into the liquid and tears Morality free, one leg impaling the restricting tentacle in place. Without a word, the spider attaches a length of webbing to the gasping Light side’s back and then _ hurls. _

Patton flies through the air, a silver cord dangling from his back as he is thrown in Thomas and Logan’s direction. Logic realizes in a moment of rude awakening, that Virgil must have noticed their arrival from the beginning. Just as Patton passes them, Virgil grasps both hands around the string of webbing and pulls, slowing Morality’s flight like a diver at the end of a bungee cord and then severs the web. Patton slides to a gentle halt not a foot from Thomas and Logan.

Logic grabs Morality by the arm and is about ready to shout his profuse thanks when it becomes clear that the rescue came at a cost. With both his arms and focus occupied Remus catches Virgil off-guard, pulling his morningstar from places unknown and swinging it at Paranoia's head.

He sees it coming. Logan catches the moment one of the spider’s eight eyes widens in realization and Virgil turns, lunging back in an attempt to dodge, but it is already too late. Logan turns away and clamps his hand over Thomas’ eyes just as the wet sound of metal meeting flesh echoes in all their ears.

Outside, the storm ceases.


	29. Chapter 29

There is nothing else in the whole of the mental plane with so sweet a taste as victory. And how rare and fleeting a succulence it has been for Remus. To feel the fluttering spirit of life within your hands and crush it. Hear that last, desperate gasp of life as soul is ripped from body. To taste, from the wellspring of despair, another’s fresh and hopeless tears. Oh, it is _ euphoria. _

Such is the moment Dark Creativity savors as metal rends flesh and Paranoia is brought low. There is blood coating the cylindrical spikes of his morningstar, dripping in thickened strings to the black sea of ink below. Remus can smell the iron in the air and it cuts through the giddy fog of fantasy to ground him in this most profound occasion. 

The ragdoll flesh of the spider collides with the surface of the black pool and with a snap of his finger Remus wills the ink away. This he must see. He breathes in the cool mountain air through parted teeth and hears a rushing in his ears even as the rainstorm beyond continues its slow death into silence. Virgil’s body sinks on the diminishing liquid until it touches ground, spider legs twitching minutely before sliding into limp stillness. His face is turned away.

The morningstar drops from his hand and the Duke’s cheeks stretch to accomodate a splitting grin.

_ “Mine.” _

The single word breaks the echoing silence beyond the steady clatter of water dripping from the mountain peak. The slowing trickle the last death throes of an impotent lightning storm. Tentacles recede back into flesh, their twitching, excited spasms adding a bounce to Remus’ steps as he strides towards his fallen prey. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” Saliva spoiled with blood and ink drips from the corner of his mouth, trailing even as his tongue slips from his mouth to collect it.

His jacket is in ruins, sash torn and dragging from his waist, but he could hardly care for the poor sight he makes. The blood that pastes the shirt to his back and the oozing puncture on his left thigh are nothing. Soon he will have energy enough to spare for repairing the damage the spider dealt.

The pale arch of Virgil’s neck sings to him and Remus hopes with the blackest parts of his heart that Paranoia is still awake. That he is conscious enough to know that Remus is coming. So that he will be able to feel with every fiber of his being as Dark Creativity consumes him. Blue-green rings blossom on the Duke’s skin as he imagines what it will taste like. 

He imagines smoke and ash and a bitterness so deep one might think it sweet.

The clumsy fumble of footsteps breaks the spell of Remus’ solemn reverie. A collection of desperate scrambling that comes to harken the familiar presence of Light. “Stay away!”

Here, in a place so saturated with Dark that the shadows themselves breathe, Morality’s presence burns like a sun. Remus’ wanting smirk turns feral as he stays his footsteps. “You really want a piece of this, Daddy-o?” He lets his neck sway in the direction of the lingering Light sides. “Trigger warning, what comes next is not for the faint of heart.” 

His nose still aches, blood coating half his mustache in a matted coat. Perhaps it is the twinge of irritation from this that compels Remus to look the self-proclaimed father in the eye as he manifests a tentacle and sends it in Virgil’s direction. He curls the amorphous limb around Paranoia’s ankle.

“Remus!”

Oh, and is that Thomas? The Duke pants with the heat of excitement as he drags the spider closer, tentacle climbing up to Virgil’s thigh. “Don’t worry, Tommy, you and I will have our sweet alone time soon enough.” Virgil’s fingers twitch as he is dragged over and deposited at Remus’ feet. Dark Creativity wraps his tentacle around the Dark side’s waist, up under the hem of his blackened hoodie, and moans. 

The spider’s eyelids are fluttering despite the blood coating the ruined half of his face. Remus thinks he might swoon. “Wakey-wakey,” he urges. He constricts his tentacle around the spider’s torso and up his neck. Virgil groans, forehead wrinkling in discomfort. Remus tuts his lips and kneels, brushing the purple-toned bangs from Paranoia’s face. “Ssh, don’t fight it. Just lie back and think of Deceit.”

“I said, stay away from him!”

“Or what!?” It is starting to get annoying, having to pull his attention away from the feast laid out before him. Remus’ hand drifts around to grip the back of Virgil’s head and he revels in the feel of his nails carving into the spider’s scalp. He snaps his focus to the trio of stunned choir boys and snarls. “You’ll wag your finger at me Daddy? Teacher’s going to break out the ruler?” He purses his lips and stands, dragging Virgil up with him by the hair. “Try it, I dare you. After all, you were so helpful last time.”

Morality cringes. There is still a loose trail of webbing clinging to the back of his hoodie. “Remus, _ please_.” Okay, so they’ve moved on to the bargaining stage. Morality wails. “You can’t _ do _this!”

“Oh? Can I, Logan?” Dark Creativity cocks his head to the side and rounds on Logic. Not so calm and collected now, his tie is loose and face absolutely a mess of ink and eyeshadow. And he does appear to be trembling, if minutely. “Tell me, _ Logic_.” With a twist of his wrist Virgil’s neck is bared and Remus runs his tongue along the cool length of his trachea. “What are the odds on me being able to sink my teeth right into Virgie’s jugular?”

“...fairly good.” Leave it to the pocket protector to need to validate his own knowledge even in this situation. Remus scoffs.

“With that settled, there’s just one more thing I need. You up, spidey?” He presses a wet kiss to Virgil’s cheek and when it’s met with a sluggish jerk away he laughs and drops Paranoia to his knees. “Beautiful.” He holds the near-limp side up with a hand on his shoulder and snatches the spider’s jaw with the other, pressing Virgil’s head against his stomach clear for the rest to see. “Now then, my turn to play the sexy tutor. Raise your hands kids, who knows what I have in my hands right here?” asks Remus, drumming his fingers against Paranoia’s collarbone. “And no human names, I mean official titles.”

Patton and Logan both flinch, and unbeknownst to their host, send Thomas fleeting glances of concern. Remus grins, eyes going wide with anticipation. “Why Thomas, it seems you’re the odd one out here.” The Duke puts on an exaggerated expression of confusion. “Don’t you know your own sides?”

“What?” Thomas looks between Remus and the Light sides, then to Virgil. “What are you talking about? He’s Anxiety.” 

Remus sticks his tongue out and blows his lips at Thomas. “_Eeeh! _Wrong.” He sticks a finger under Virgil’s upper lip and pulls it back to expose a bloodied fang. “Try again. We’ve got… fangs.” A twist of his hand to expose the unbloodied half of the spider’s face and four twitching purple eyes blink at their host before fading back to two. “Eight-or well I guess two now- eyes. And these.” Remus kicks out at a limp spider leg and grins as it buckles with an audible crack.

Still held tight in his tentacle’s grip, Virgil arches his back and groans. “..._R-Remus, don’t you dare- _” Dark Creativity slaps his hand over the spider’s mouth and wills ink to spill past the Dark side’s lips. Virgil chokes on the tar, black sludge slipping from the corner of his mouth.

“No comments from the peanut gallery please,” says Remus. It’s the only warning Virgil will get. Next Remus will sever one of his legs. “Now, Thomas. Guess again.”

Thomas flinches back a step, a sobering kind of realization stealing the color from his cheeks. “...P-Paranoia…” Thomas Sanders looks to his Logic and Morality who both refuse to meet his eyes. “Y-You’re lying.”

“Haha! You hear that, Virgil?” Remus presses his lips to the Dark side’s ear. “He thinks _ I’m _lying. I’m just about the only side who HASN'T lied to him!” 

“Let him go!” Thomas is stalking forward as if to fight the Duke himself, but Logan and Patton each grab an arm and hold him back. “I don’t care who or what he is! I won’t let you hurt him!”

Something black and ugly in Remus rears its head. “You want to defend_ THIS_!?” He drops Virgil then and there, willing away his tentacle and letting the spider fall to his hands and knees. The pathetic insect can’t even manage that much, his trembling arms giving out and leaving Virgil on his elbows with his forehead brushing the ground as he vomits up ink. “All we Dark sides have ever wanted was to be accepted by you, _ listened to, _ and out of all of us YOU CHOSE HIM!?” Why? Why do they ALWAYS choose him?

Remus’ chest is heaving with the weight of his outrage. “Look around you,” a tentacle sweeps from the Duke’s back to tear one of the hanging cocoons open, spilling the decomposing corpse of a giant, once brightly colored kestrel onto the floor. Jealousy’s sallow remains bring a green tinge to the Light sides’ faces. “Your _ precious _Virgil is the biggest monster of us all.”

The Duke’s eyes find Patton’s and is satisfied to see a look of utter heartache and disappointment on their moral side’s face. He pivots on his heel and summons the morningstar back to his hand. “Doesn’t matter though,” he mutters somewhat to himself. Dark Creativity brings the spiked weapon down on the spider’s back, flattening him to the ground. “No more last pick in gym class. This time Paranoia, _I _win.” 

He can’t wait anymore. Remus reaches with his free arm and pulls Virgil up by the back of his hoodie. The spider snarls, hissing and and spitting, but there is not enough strength left in him to put up a fight. “You know,” he says, pinning the smaller Dark side against his chest, pulling at his hair to expose the plane of his neck. “I really have you to thank as well, Thomas.” He winks as their host cringes. “Working out all those issues, building your self-esteem, your confidence.”

Virgil struggles against Remus like a spider caught tangled in its own webbing. Remus says, “It’s not like you need your self-doubt now, anyway. Just think of all the things we will accomplish together without Paranoia holding us back.”

“DON’T!”

Remus sinks his teeth into the spider’s throat. Feels the hot spray of blood against the back of his tongue like the first bite in the most delicious, forbidden of fruit. Virgil seizes in his grip and the air itself seems to scream, a beautiful, terrible song that only Remus can hear as an endless void of Dark begins to flood into his body.

“REMUS!” And oh, he knows that voice. It is perhaps the only voice that could pull him from this moment of utmost bliss. With a lingering press of lips to the pulsating ruin of a neck he lets the spider drop. 

“So good of you to join us, brother dearest.” With a wave of his hand towards the trio in the back he warns, “don’t touch my stuff,” while turning to the opening of the cave. There he can see the golden prince himself, standing with white coat pristine and his sword drawn at the ready.

The grip of his fingers along the braided leather hilt is tighter than usual. He can hear it creak as Roman steps out of the muted rays of sunlight and into the cavern’s darkness. “What’s the matter, bro? You’re quieter than normal.” Remus giggles and gestures his arms as if bereaved. “No great speech for the occasion?”

In the shadow of the cave, Roman’s eyes turn dark and he glares. “Not this time.”

“Well, shrivel my cock and call it a raisin.” Remus arches an eyebrow and lifts a hand to wipe the tack coat of blood on his chin with his jacket cuff. “Where’s the fun in any of this, then?”

“Roman!” Their hosts relieved exclamation makes the Duke grimace. “Roman, Virgil’s hurt! We need to-”

He says, “Stay out of this Tommy. Daddy and Daddy are talking.” The morningstar manifests in his hand with a flourish of Remus’ wrist. He watches the prince’s eyes cut to the Light sides and then trace their way down to the spider’s broken form. He thinks he sees a flash in Roman’s eyes, hears the noble Creativity curl his lip and let slip the smallest of hisses. 

Remus strides to the left and Roman follows suit in similar fashion, beginning their slow circle. When they’ve traded places and it is Roman’s back to Paranoia’s prone body, he calls out to the others. “Get Virgil out of here. I’ll finish this.”

“Oooh,” the Duke rolls his shoulders and giggles. “That’s better. How wonderfully dramatic.” He sends the side across from him a wink. “Let’s see if you can live up to the hype.” Under normal circumstances Roman would have taken the initiative by now, but seeing as he hasn’t Remus is more than willing to take it upon himself.

A short dash brings him within striking range of the prince and he offers the blind-sided Creativity a clumsy swipe, watching as Roman counters with a half-decent parry. He can feel how the prince’s arms buckle at the effort of holding off his attack and Remus clicks his tongue. “Come come brother, you have better footwork than that!”

The next swing he makes a little more direct, bringing the spiked head down with an overhand strike. He is unsurprised when Roman choses to evade rather than dart inside his range for a thrust. By this point he knows what’s happening. He weaves out of the way of Roman’s next swing and deflects the ensuing strike with the haft of his weapon, sliding down the sword’s sharp edge until they are practically nose to nose.

Remus catches the wrist of the prince’s sword arm and wraps his other arm around his twin’s waist, bending them into a dip. “If you’ve come for your damsel,” he whispers into the other side’s ear. “You’re too late. He’s used goods now.” And there it is, the spark of fire in Roman’s brown eyes. The Duke rears back before he can take another forehead to the nose. He releases the prince’s wrist and backs off, arms open wide. “Of course, you’re always welcome to my sloppy seconds when I’m done!” 

“Shut up!” Roman forgoes all semblance of swordplay and throws himself into a tackle, actually managing to knock Remus off his feet and onto the flat of his back. The Duke laughs as he takes an uncoordinated right hook to the cheek. Roman says, “Deceit, now!”

A flurry of black and yellow and someone is darting out from the shadows of the cavern wall and towards Virgil. Remus watches from the corner of his eye while holding Roman back from another attack. Yellow-gloved hands scoop the Dark side up, cradling Virgil’s head against his chest. Remus snarls and digs the butt of his morningstar into Roman’s side. The prince grunts and falls to the side.

“_Excuse _me, that’s MINE!” He scrambles to his feet and throws out his right arm, a tentacle extending out in a vengeance towards that stupid bowler hat. He can see the moment when the strike will meet, as Deceit carries Paranoia into the Light sides’ awaiting arms, but a pain white hot and burning turns it all sideways.

The kraken screams as the writhing limb hits the ground, blood and salt water spraying from its severed stump. Remus chokes on the agony, fleeting as it is, and summons his aspect to repair the damage and regrow the severed arm. He forgets his half-consumed meal for the time being and rounds on the prince. The prince who is kneeling on one knee, arm extended following the broken stalactite he’d thrown clear through the tentacle’s soft flesh. “That… _ hurt_.”

Roman smirks. “Good.”

“You want this fight so badly? Fine.” He was willing to play nice at first, but now he’s just irritated. 

The prince stands to his feet and holds his sword at the ready with both hands. “Logan, get Thomas and the others as far away as you can. I’ll catch up.” Remus quirks his lips in a confused pout. He wasn’t expecting that.

“You’re that committed to the bit, huh?” He wills his morningstar to lengthen itself out into a silver cutlass and gives it a practice swing. “Then I suppose I can even the odds a little.” He was never quite so elegant with a blade as Roman, but seeing as that’s hardly the issue at the moment, he’s willing to see who plays the part better.

Behind them, the other sides and their host shuffle together. Patton calls out, “Roman, are you sure?”

Brown eyes don’t look away from emerald green. “Go!” Remus can feel as Paranoia’s presence begins to diminish, hauled away by the others. It irks him slightly, to not be able to finish draining the spider dry like he wanted, but it hardly matters. The poison Dark Creativity sent coursing through Virgil’s body has had more than enough time to set in. Remus will just have to devour him from the inside out instead.

“How disgustingly noble.” With clear and present intent, Remus locks blades with Roman, making a show of forcing the other side back until he has the prince pinned against the cavern wall. They are dangerously close to the cave mouth and as they struggle, loose stones clatter into open air. He catches the nervous flicker of his opponent’s eyes to the awaiting precipice. “Shall I tell you a secret, Roman?” 

The prince’s eyes narrow and he kicks out at Remus’ gut, forcing the Duke to stumble back and let Roman off the wall. Following the advantage, Roman swings wide. Remus laughs, parrying the easy strike and sending back a riposte that forces the other side to display his impressive limbo technique to avoid. Remus says, “I admire the long game, truly. Never had the patience for it myself, but it makes for quite the macabre reveal.”

Roman throws himself into a lunge. “Do you _ ever _ssshut up?” 

Remus tutts. “Ah ah ah, no slipping.” He sidesteps the forward jab and strikes low on the other side’s blade, sending the prince stumbling. “You always were clumsy on the details.” A tight pirouette brings Remus against Roman’s back and he presses his nose into the crook of the side’s neck, breathing in the scent of anise and figs. “By the way, you’re missing the epaulets, _ Deceit_.”

_ Roman _melts away as the serpent hisses, white coat bleeding away to black as scales spread up the Dark side’s neck and across half his face. “At least I can drop this sssstupid outfit.” Giving up any pretense of fighting with his weapon, Deceit lashes out with scale and claw and forces Remus to bob out of the way of a desperate backswing. 

Remus gives the Dark side a respectful distance. Deceit lacks the coat and hat, Remus suspects those are currently clothing the real Roman somewhere as he carries Virgil away. He takes in the other side’s black shirt and pants and smirks. “Bravo, really,” he dips into a slight bow. “Good job weaseling your way into the Light sides good graces. Now with Paranoia out of the way it’s just you and me.” He gestures the point of his cutlass between them. “You manage to beat me here and you’ll have the Light _ and _the Dark within your grasp.” 

Remus gives a wistful sigh. “_O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive_.” He shakes his head and presses the back of his palm against his forehead. “Virgil would be so betrayed.”

Deceit bares his fangs. “Don’t pretend you understand anything about why I’m here.” He is still fingering the pretend sword, holding it like a child play-acting with a broom. 

Remus’ grin is all teeth. “I don’t need to. I know who you are, what you stand for.” The Duke sticks his tongue out and drags down the lower lid of his left eye. “_Lies, lies-lies, lies-lies_.”

Curling brown hair obstructs the serpent-half of Deceit’s face, and in the emboldening sunlight of the broken storm the locks shine with glints of gold. Deceit levels the sword in his hand at Remus’ chest. “Believe me or not,” he says. “But I _ will _put you down here.”

Remus rolls his eyes and flaps his hand. Turning his back on the posturing serpent he scoffs and stalks deeper into the shadows. “Now _that _sounds like Roman. Shame really, all that smoke you’re blowing up my ass and there’s still no real fire to you.” He drives his cutlass into the stone of the cavern base and begins his steady climb up the mound of bones. Each step is like rising on a tide of ecstasy and at its peak Remus’ fingers flutter over the arms of the throne of fear.

He steps around the side of the spider’s once seat of power and caresses its every inch. “You can jab me with that toothpick all you want. As if Roman would ever trust you with his precious sword.” Snapping on his heel, Remus stalks back down and snatches Deceit by the throat, bringing the other Dark side close and their faces bare inches apart. “You might have noticed but, my brother’s not really one to share.”

The serpent gags, struggling against the grip of the Duke’s arm to speak. Remus relieves the pressure of his thumb against Deceit’s trachea and offers the snake his ear. “What was that?”

Hot steel plunges through Dark Creativity’s gut, and Remus gasps as he feels it tear through flesh and fabric to exit out his back. The Duke’s knees buckle and he grasps the serpent’s wrist around the blade hilt, for the first time noticing the stench of burning flesh where Dark meets a force of pure Light. He doesn’t understand. Deceit’s serpent eye holds his gaze, glowing and gold as Remus sinks to his knees.

“I said,” the snake rasps, tongue flickering as he pulls the borrowed blade free. “The sword is real. And thisss,” he sets the tip of the blade over the left side of Remus’ chest. The Duke catches sight of the serpent’s blackened, burning palm. “This is for Virgil.” 

Remus feels, with an aching sort of clarity, every instant as his brother’s steel is driven through the hollow void meant for his heart.


	30. Chapter 30

He supposes it should feel more like a victory, watching Remus sink to the ground, blood and ink mingling together in a shallow pool beneath him. After all, it is the closest thing to a victory lap he is likely to ever get. Deceit wishes he could savor the kill. He wishes he could spark that perverse pleasure in death-dealing he’d known some of the other Dark sides to possess. But the serpent is ever purposeful, and he does not kill for fun. No, a side’s blood has rarely if ever stained his hands, and the occasions when it has were instigated only by necessity. It makes bearing witness to Dark Creativity’s collapse as disturbing an experience as it is satisfying.

Of course, the choked laughter hardly helps the matter.

Deceit pulls back Roman’s blade, wincing at the wet sluice of metal sliding free of flesh. Then he lets it drop, hissing as the blistering mess of black and red that is his palm crackles with every twitch of muscle. Blood and pus trickle down the length of his fingers to dribble from the quivering tips of his claws. His scales had bought time, but seeing as they’ve long been burnt away he does not try to recover the borrowed weapon. On the ground, Remus coughs, black sludge dripping from his lips, his ears, even his eyes.

“I-I can’t believe it.” The Duke giggles and wind tickles the whiskers of his mustache. “Congratulations… Tell me, h-how did you manage it?” Remus’ hand drifts up to the leaking hole in his chest and his fingers play at the wound. “P-Parting Roman from his pride and joy?”

Deceit grimaces. The sunlight beating down on the back of his neck from outside the mountain is making his skin prickle and his heart is racing in his chest. “Save your breath,” he says, not caring to answer the question. “It’d be a pity if you sped along your own demise by talking too much.” He needs to catch up with the others. Make sure that Virgil recovers from whatever injuries Remus dealt and then… well, that’s about as far as he is letting himself think right now.

The flow of his aspect is in shambles. The heavy weight of revelation is in the air and with it a profound sense of vulnerability. Not for himself, the greatest risks are behind the serpent now, but for Virgil. As much as he is a proponent of lies and a master in the art of choice discretion, he does not appreciate being left in the dark. And Deceit does not know what will happen when Virgil learns that nearly all his secrets have been dragged out into the light for all to see. He does not know how Paranoia will feel when he learns how completely Deceit has failed in what has always been his most solemn duty.

That, more than anything, terrifies him.

The serpent snatches the torn sash from Remus’ waist and begins wrapping it around his left hand. He can feel the green eyes that watch him, but is sure not to meet their gaze. The Duke sighs, “...not going to finish me off yourself? What a bore_. _”

Deceit hisses, tongue fluttering in agitation. “I should have gone for your lungs. What did I say about talking?” he kicks Remus’ leg none too gently as he shuffles back over to Roman’s sword, cringing at the thought of picking it up again. He tests the feel of the green fabric around his palm and decides it won’t do much good. Better than nothing though.

“I-If you don’t,” says Remus. “You know my influence will just disperse… reform somewhere else.”

Gritting his teeth, Deceit retrieves Creativity’s blade from the ground, wincing as his hand begins to heat once more like touching the grille of a warming space heater. “That’s fine. You pop up again, Virgil and I will put you down,” he steps over the octopus’ dying body and spares a moment to gesture with the point of the sword. “Like whack-a-mole. Besides, there’s absolutely no part of you I want inside me.”

He is stalking off towards the back end of the cave when Remus laughs. Loud and unhinged, the cackle has more strength to it than the Duke has any right to and it makes Deceit stop in his tracks. Pivoting on his heel he watches Remus struggle onto his knees. Dark Creativity’s face has gone ashen with blood loss and it almost looks like his whole body has begun to degrade, shedding whole swathes of tar like spillover from an oil rig. 

The Duke sits back on his heels and lets his head fall back. “Ah-ugh. Well-” he spits out a wad of saltwater and ink that dribbles over his chin. “I guess that means you’ll be-mmhg, giving up your right t-to plow that sweet virgin soil then, eh?” Silver hair drifts over Remus’ face.

The serpent hisses. “What do you mean?”

“S’too bad,” Remus’ grin is feral as his chin drops to his chest. “I can get down with _ a lot _ but-” a shrug of his shoulders. “Twincest is just a bit-blegh,” Remus makes a vague gesture with the hand not still fingering the hole in his chest. “Guess that means Roman’s out too.”

Deceit groans and throws his head back in frustration. “For once in your life, could you string a SINGLE, _ Goddamn _ sentence together that makes even a _ lick _of sense!”

“You know what the nice thing about being a kraken is?” Remus tilts his head, watching as his arm degrades to black and melts away. “They’re a lot like starfish. S-So resilient.” Perhaps through whatever power he managed to siphon from Virgil, Remus stumbles to his feet. He sways on unsteady legs until his heels brush open air and wind plays at the loose threads of his hair. “S-So hard… to kill.”

A secret tickles at Deceit’s scales, poorly hidden and readily unearthed. He parses through the convoluted knot of innuendo and implication and comes to a conclusion that has him dropping Roman’s blade to the ground and rushing back towards the wavering Dark side. “...no.”

Remus blows a kiss as he tips himself over the side. “See you soon, Mr. Slither.”

“No!” He is so close. Deceit nearly throws himself from the mountainside reaching out to snatch the Duke out of the air. But as his claws dig into rain-softened earth to anchor him to the ground, his left hand meets nothing but wind. He watches, wide-eyed and disbelieving as Remus’ plummeting body dissolves into a downpour of black rain that evaporates as quickly as it had appeared. The mountain fades into silence, with only the lingering echo of the Duke’s laughter ringing in Deceit ears.

_ “Damn it!” _ With a roar of outrage Deceit throws his left arm up to help haul himself back to the mountain grotto. When his feet are back to touching solid earth the serpent throws his hands up into his hair. “Damn _ him. _ Damn _ thisss. _ Damn _ it all_!” 

For a moment his knees buckle and Deceit debates just letting himself sink to the floor. Giving up and letting Remus steal the win. He entertains the thought for a moment, then lets it die. The serpent groans and plucks up Creativity’s sword.

Fuck that, Virgil needs him. 

Snapping his fingers Deceit conjures a belt around his waist and slings the Light side weapon through it, relieving himself of the constant, burning touch. He then turns his back from the uncharacteristically sunny sky and marches for the back of the cave, breaking out into a run the deeper he gets into the shadows. The serpent spots the small exit burrow and sets his eyes on it, passing the bone mound that holds aloft the throne of fear when a flash of color sparks in the corner of his serpent eye.

_ Always on the move. And here I thought you of all sides would have learned from Paranoia’s mistake to be more cautious. _

Deceit stutters to a halt. A prickling of dread stiffens his spine and the serpent’s breaths come short. He knows that voice. Remembers that voice. Has feared that voice since his earliest moments of coherent thought. 

“Malice?” he turns back to see the wolf watching him from the foot of Paranoia’s throne. It has always surprised Deceit, how amongst sides who could take the forms of beasts larger than life like Paranoia and Dark Creativity, the wolf somehow managed to hold equal if not greater command with such a small… normal form. He swallows a lump as he meets Malice’s penetrating gaze. “Why are you- _ how _ are you even here?”

The wolf huffs and leaps to the ground, tossing its head and sitting back on its haunches to look up at Deceit. _ To offer a small piece of wisdom, if you have any care to listen to it. _Deceit is not sure how the apparition manages to look condescending, but he does.

“Look,” says the serpent. “I’m not sure what hair-brained hallucination Remus managed to leave for me, but I don’t have time for it. I have better things to do than chat with the dead.” He means to turn on his heel and walk away, but a deeply instilled instinct not to turn his back on a greater predator results in him simply taking a step back.

Which means he is given full view when the wolf stands to its feet, takes a step forward, and snarls. _ Deceit! _

The serpent makes a small sound of fear and flinches, scales spreading across to the human side of his face. It takes forcible effort not to convert to the smallest form he has and try to slither away.

When the wolf speaks again, it begins with a sigh. _ After all the trouble Dark Creativity went through to get my attention, you’d think the two sides I actually care to speak to would spare me a moment and listen. _

Deceit frowns. “What, so you’re haunting Virgil too? Great, I’ll add that to our _ tiny _list of reasons why we hate you.” Indignant rage making him bold, Deceit glares down at the wolf. “I don’t need your attention, or your help, or your wisdom. And neither does Virgil, so get lost.” He turns and makes it about three feet before Malice’s voice stops him.

_ Paranoia felt the same when I warned him there would be threats to his power. And look where his stubborn disregard has led him? _ The wolf’s tail swishes in the wind and one of its ears swivels back towards the open sky. _ Will you let the spider lure you into his same folly? _

“Don’t pretend you give a single fuck about me.” Deceit spits at the wolf’s feet, fangs bared and dripping venom. “I was nothing but an inconvenient necessity to you. And I won’t let you use me to get to Virgil.” He shouldn’t still be here. The longer the serpent allows Malice to keep him up in the mountain the farther away Virgil gets. The more diminished his presence becomes.

_ We do not have time to argue, Deceit. _ The wolf lopes forward and steps into the serpent’s path. _ I need you to listen to me. _

“Sure, I’ll get right on that.” Deceit steps forward as if to walk clean through the wolf when Malice’s hackles rise and a growl rips from his throat. Muscle memory stirring from a long-buried youth of running and hiding has the serpent instantly retreating.

_ Be silent and listen, you useless reptile! _ The wolf begins to pace, burning eyes never leaving Deceit’s face. _ I never understood Paranoia’s incessant fondness for you- _

Fondness? Really? Coming from Malice, the word might as well be defined as another side might refer to- well, Deceit had always told himself that the bond he shares with the spider is stronger on his end than the other way around. But if even the old codger of a wolf saw it-

_ FOCUS. _

“I was listening!” Deceit was definitely not whining. 

_ Host help me, and I thought Thomas was over his adolescent hormones. _ The wolf’s head drops. _ Paranoia has always valued your presence more than your insignificant purpose ever warranted. _

Deceit’s tongue slips from his lips and he turns the human half of his face away. “Don’t shovel out all your praise at once, old man. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

_ Be that as it may, if ever you are to prove your worth to me, now is the time. I have invested too much in the spider to lose him now. _

“You never _ had _him to begin with.” The sneer Deceit sends the other Dark side is rife with loathing. Malice huffs, breathing out a puff of air through his lupine muzzle. 

_ Regardless. Unless we act quickly, Dark Creativity will use his poison to anchor his aspect in Paranoia and consume him from within. _

Not while Deceit has any say in it. The thought of what could happen, of seeing Remus in Virgil’s eyes, hearing the Duke’s filth spoken through the spider’s lips… it makes the serpent sick. “If you know this,” he says, “then stop wasting my time. I need to catch up with the others.”

_ And do what? _

“Whatever I have to.” Deceit musters the courage to turn his back on the old Dark side and head for the burrow again. 

_ You mean feed Paranoia your essence like you did in the desert? _ The wolf scoffs. _ You could let the spider devour you entirely and it would not be enough to overcome the Duke’s influence. _

He’s hissing before Deceit even realizes it. “Why? Because Remus is more powerful than I am?” The serpent laughs. “I’ll remind you it was _ ME _holding him back when Virgil decided to go off and play Light side!”

The thud of Malice’s paw on the mountain stone pounds like thunder. _ NO, _ he says. _ Because compared to Paranoia, you are insignificant. _

Deceit’s fangs lacerate his lower lip as he bites down hard. Funny, he thinks, swallowing the blood that drains into his mouth. He’d thought himself beyond letting Malice’s words hurt him. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

_ You are Deceit. A tool, a means to an end. Paranoia is a greater state of being. _ Malice returns himself to a sitting position. _ All of what you are could never hope to fill the void left in the vacuum of his power. And without it, Dark Creativity will take advantage and consume him. _

Deceit shakes his head. “If I’m so useless then what do you want from me!?”

_ To return what I stole. _A hand is held out to Deceit and the serpent backs away. He does not look into the face of Thomas Sanders, prematurely aged with cruelty and self-service, standing in place of the wolf. But he does see, in the open palm, a spinning galaxy of Darkness.

A base instinct Deceit does not fully understand compels him to reach out for it. A siren song of power plays a melody in his ears and it is only rigidity of purpose that keeps Deceit’s trembling fingertips from drifting into the touch. “W-What… what is that?”

_ Paranoia’s inheritance. All that was taken from the Dark sides he devoured. _

The serpent hisses and backs away. He feels the sword at his hip start to resonate, like opposing ends of a magnet, Light surging forward to fight Dark. Deceit’s mouth waters at the thought of snatching the Dark out of Malice’s palm, but it also terrifies him. It’s like a black hole, endless and screaming and hungry. Up until this point the serpent has always been satisfied with his small corner of influence. His lot is a simple one. Easy. Pure, in its own way.

This… this is chaos incarnate.

“A-And you want me to…”

_ Take it. Deliver it to Paranoia, and help him use it to crush the Duke’s seed inside of himself before it is too late. _ The hand holds the power out once more, nearly thrusting it into Deceit’s chest. _ Take it, Deceit! _

“And what? You expect me to just take that and be able to give it up!?” Deceit reaches down and grasps the hilt of Roman’s sword, savoring the burning sting that roots him in sanity. He tries not to think about the smell coming from his palm.

“I can’t take that,” he says. “If I do, I won’t be able to give it back.”

_ I know. I know that it is the nature of the weak to envy the strong. And I know that when you take this power you will fool yourself into thinking that keeping it is for the best. _ Malice steps forward. _ But I’m out of options. And despite everything, out of all of us, Virgil trusts YOU. _

Deceit swallows and grips the sword hilt tighter, groaning as it burns him down to the bone. “I can’t.”

_ You would rather it go to Remus! _ Malice snarls as his free hand goes to grip the front of Deceit’s shirt. _ Because that is what will happen! _

“Why not just release it then? You would all disperse, reform.” 

_ Stupid boy. I would rather spend our host’s lifetime as the unheeded voice in Paranoia’s ear than see Creativity’s pickings devour my greatest creation. _

Deceit shakes his head and shoves the apparition’s hand away. “You really are an asshole.” He gestures to the swirling vortex hanging between them. “Throwing away the autonomy of ALL our brothers on a plan YOU don’t even think will work! All to what- stick it to the Duke?” When Malice remains unwavering Deceit throws his hands in the air and stalks off towards the cavern’s lip. Into the light where he knows the wolf won't follow. “I won’t be a party to that.”

Ugh, that sounded like something Roman would say. 

_ Then Virgil dies. _

“No.”

_ You can’t stop what Remus started, Deceit. Not without my help. _

“Then the Light sides will find a way.” The serpent gags at the very thought and lets his head fall against the mountain wall overlooking the forest. “They’re good at that sort of thing. Roman… Roman won’t let anything happen to Virgil.” The warm breath of sunlight and the whispers of birdsong weigh heavy on Deceit’s heart. It should not be so Light here. Not in the heart of Virgil’s realm.

The sound of Malice’s footsteps echo closer. _ I don’t need the power of your aspect to know that you are lying to yourself, _ he says. _ The prince will try, but this is not something that can be settled in anything but shadow. _

“You think I’ll fail,” says Deceit, turning his back to the Light and stepping closer to Malice. He eyes the power being offered out to him and hovers his hand over it. “You think I’ll let Virgil die to keep this.”

_ I do, _ says the wolf, and there is no hint of a lie. _ Now, prove me wrong. _


	31. Chapter 31

There is blood soaking into the fabric of his borrowed clothes. As Roman follows the trail left by Patton down the mountainside, the cool plaster of blood steadily coating his back, his neck, his arms makes him all the more aware of every second that passes. More so than the sluggish but resilient heartbeat that thumps a pattern against his spine. Roman tightens the grip of his hands against Virgil’s thighs and hikes the limp Dark side higher up his back, wincing at the low groan the motion elicits from the face pressed to the side of his neck. He tries not to think about the way the side of Virgil’s face feels like a mass of swollen flesh and shattered bones. He fails miserably.

“Roman, how is he?” Patton calls from where he is helping Thomas down a particularly steep slope. The pass they’d found has saved them time getting down from the peak, but the mountain base is still far off. Worse yet, it’s not as though they’ve discussed where exactly they plan to go. The extent of Roman’s thought process up to this point has been: find Virgil, get Virgil away, make sure Virgil keeps breathing. Honestly, he’d kind of been hoping Deceit would be there to give them direction by now.

A soft exhalation of air tickles the hair near the prince’s ear. “He’s breathing,” says Roman, once again checking off the most important box on his current tasks list. He just wishes his list included more details on how to maintain that particular status quo.

“Heart rate?” asks Logan.

Roman swallows and takes a moment to still, closing his eyes and listening for the steady thrum inside Virgil’s chest. The soft thumping is soothing music to the prince’s ears. “Slow, but… it’s steady.”

Logan stops in his tracks a few strides behind Thomas and Patton and looks back. “How slow?”

“Uh…”

“Count how many beats you feel over fifteen seconds and multiply it by four.”

The others go still, trading looks of concern as they watch Roman count. He taps a finger against the wet fabric of Virgil’s jeans with every beat he feels against his spine. Eight… nine… ten. “Maybe… forty?”

_ “Damn.” _Logan turns and rushes the rest of the way down to the flattest point of the mountain pass, blowing clear past Thomas and snatching Patton by the wrist as he goes. “Roman, get down here quickly!” 

He does not need to be told twice, clutching Virgil tighter and picking up the pace as much as he can without destabilizing his cargo. At the same time, he can see Logan urging Patton to remove his cat hoodie and place it flat on the ground. “Thomas, help Roman lay him down here.”

Thomas is nodding at Roman’s side. “Right.” The process of extricating the Dark side from Roman’s back is a much more difficult one than any of them probably expected. In the end it takes Roman lowering himself to his knees while Patton supports Virgil’s head and Thomas loops his arms around Anxiety’s torso before they manage to lift him free. They all wince at the wet tearing of blood that plasters the shredded black hoodie to Roman’s borrowed half-cape.

“Lay him here,” Logan instructs, guiding Thomas and Patton into setting Virgil down over the cushion of Morality’s hoodie.

Roman watches, numb as cool mountain air makes him achingly aware of the burden lifted from his shoulders. His hand twitches down to his waist where he expects his sword to rest, but there is nothing there, the comfort of its grip temporarily out of reach. The prince bites down on his lower lip and sends a quick look up the mountain.

He hopes Deceit can finish things up there with Remus quickly.

“How bad is it?” Thomas’ question brings Roman back around again to where Logan is crouched over Virgil’s head, obscuring Roman’s view of his most severe injuries.

“I-I… I don’t know,” says Logan, and there is a crease between the teacher’s eyebrows that screams unease. Patton bites his thumbnail and reaches out to put a hand on Logic’s shoulder. A hand that Logan shakes off in favor of pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

Roman gets to his feet and strides closer. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” He kneels at Virgil’s opposite side and sucks in a breath at the puffy mess that is his face and the bloody, shredded flesh of his neck.

“Just that Roman, I don’t know!” Logan tears at the knot of his tie and pulls it loose, slinging it over his head and wadding it into a ball. “Here,” he presses the black and blue fabric into Roman’s hand and directs it to Virgil’s neck. “Keep pressure and let me know if it gets saturated.”

“Uh-right.” Roman holds the silken cloth over Virgil’s neck with both hands. 

“What about us?” asks Patton, gesturing between himself and Thomas.

Logan sniffs and tangles an ink-stained hand in the mess of his hair. “Patton, don’t shake him or anything but see if you can get Virgil to wake up. If he starts responding, don’t let him fall back asleep.”

Patton’s hair bobs with the ferocity of his nods. “Okay.”

“Good. Thomas, come with me.” Logan snatches their host’s wrist and pulls him away, leaving Patton and Roman alone with Virgil. Roman watches Logic take Thomas off some distance away and start discussing something in hushed voices. He frowns when he sees the way Thomas starts gesturing his hands and his face contorts with obvious distress. Logan too, looks distraught in a way only Logic can, his lips turned down in a frown and a discouraged slump to his shoulders.

Roman dearly wishes he could hear what they were discussing.

“Hey, kiddo? Kiddo, can you hear me?” Patton takes one of Virgil’s hands and grips it tight in his. The other he uses cup the uninjured side of Anxiety’s face. “Virgil if you can, I need you to open your eyes. Talk to me.”

The gentle coaxing pulls Roman’s focus back to Virgil. The Dark sides eyelids are fluttering and Roman feels the neck beneath his hands twitch. “Ngh-Patton?”

“Virgil!” Patton jerks and brings the hand in his grip against his chest, clutching it tightly. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re awake. You hang in there, kiddo, we’ll fix you right up, okay?” he says, nodding his head so fast, Roman has to reach out and steady the Light side’s glasses before they go slipping off his face.

Virgil’s face contorts in pain as his body shuffles, like he is trying to sit up. “Woah now, Hot Topic,” Roman steadies a hand on the spider’s shoulder and urges him still. “Little early for a victory dance.”

“Princey?” A single, violet eye swivels in Roman’s direction and the prince meets it with the calmest smile he can muster. He does not know if the quiver in his lips is noticeable, or if Virgil can feel the tightening of his hand through whatever pain he must be in. What he does say is, “shouldn’t- _ ow. _ Shouldn’t be here.”

Roman shrugs. “Well, you ran off, mi querido idiota. I had no choice but to come after you.”

Virgil licks his lips and looks steadfastly up at the sky, avoiding both Patton and Roman’s eyes. “None of your business,” he says. “Didn’t... I didn’t ask to be rescued.” 

Roman opens his mouth to speak when Patton pushes himself forward, taking Virgil’s face in his hands. Or at least- the half not a mess of blood and bone. “That’s the great part about being part of a family, kiddo.” Morality sniffles and rubs the moisture from his cheeks onto the shoulder of his blue polo. “You didn’t need to.”

He can tell Patton is pretending not to notice, and Roman follows suit in not reacting when Virgil begins to blink rapidly and angles his head upwards. As if he is trying to keep something in his eyes from spilling over. A trickle of melting eyeshadow cuts down the side of Anxiety’s face and is lost in his ear. “M’sorry,” he says, and Roman wishes he knew what meaning was passing from Virgil to Patton. He wishes he understood why the look reflected in Morality’s eyes was loving, yes, but also incredibly sad and somewhat, disappointed.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” says Patton before looking over his shoulder to Logan and Thomas. “I’ll be right back.” Morality climbs to his feet and wanders off towards the other two, leaving Roman and Virgil alone.

Virgil watches him go, eye trailing after the fatherly persona for a moment before seeming to remember Roman still holding a tie against his neck and his focus shifts accordingly. The change in angle brings the ruined half of the Dark side’s face into view and Roman is careful not to look. Instead he keeps his focus on the single, watchful eye flickering desperately to read the prince’s expression. Roman tries to project as calm and pleasant a look as he can. “Not exactly how I imagined our next chance to be alone would go,” he says with a small laugh.

“Oh, really?” Virgil huffs and there is a slight uptilt to his lips that makes the knot of tension in the prince’s heart ease. That is, until the soft mien of peace on Anxiety’s face gives way to an exhaustion that looks fit to drown him.

“Virgil?”

The Dark side is no longer looking at him. “You still don’t know.” Virgil laughs and it is a tired, bitter thing. “All that horror show crap with Remus and somehow… you are _ still _the clueless moron. Why am I not surprised?”

Roman does not understand. “Know what?” He tries to meet Anxiety’s gaze but it becomes rapidly clear that the other side is avoiding it. Eyes darting around first to Logan and Patton speaking with Thomas, and then around the vicinity of the mountain pass. “Virgil, talk to me. Please.” He moves to set a hand against Anxiety’s cheek, force their eyes to meet, but the wet squelch of blood is an urgent reminder to keep himself still.

“Can’t you just be satisfied living in blissful ignorance?” he asks, and there is a pleading brokenness there that Roman does not want to see. He does not want to see the glassy shimmer in Anxiety’s eye. “You’d be happier never knowing.”

A growing frustration has Roman tearing the black cape-whatever _ thing _ from his shoulders and stuffing it over Logan’s soaking tie. Virgil flinches and groans at the manhandling of his injury but it does free up one of Roman’s hands to smooth over the Dark side’s brow. “You don’t scare me, Virgil,” he says. “You didn’t back in the desert, and you didn’t with all those- _ bodies- _or whatever was in your creepy mountain.” He’s not sure how to make it clear to Virgil just how much he means to him. “Whatever this secret of yours is, I’m not afraid.”

Virgil coughs and even more bleeding eyeshadow makes the journey down his face. “You should be,” he says and Roman feels something inside himself snap.

“Alright, enough of this Twilight _ bullshit_!” At least that snaps Virgil’s attention back where it should be. Roman holds the purple gaze and does not let it drift. “Tell me, yes or no, do you sparkle in the sunlight?”

“What? _ No_!” Anxiety looks fit to gag and that coaxes a relieved sigh from Roman.

“Oh thank God.” The prince clears his throat. “Very well then, next question. Do you drink blood?”

“Uh- well… I guess technically-”

“Nevermind.” Roman makes an abortive gesture with his free hand. “Don’t need the specifics on that one, just decided.” He might be mistaken, but he thinks he might have heard a small puff of air that could even be considered a laugh coming from the other side. “Look, Anxiety- serious talk time.” He waits until Virgil’s expression has smoothed itself out into a careful balance of caution, apprehension, and the tiniest spark of hope. Roman latches on to that hope and orders himself to hold on with all his might.

It is the prince’s turn this time to avert his eyes. “Why do you think I’m sitting here, wearing this absolutely abhorrent outfit, with my knees two inches into the mud, plugging holes in your neck like the world’s worst plumber?” He glances up and sees Virgil’s expression twist in confusion.

“It’s… what you do, isn’t it? Play the hero?”

Roman shakes his head. “No, that’s not-”

“I mean, you live to be the Prince Charming.”

“Virgil, what I’m trying to say is-”

The dense idiot just doesn’t seem to be listening. “I mean- I get it. You want to be the Hercules to my Meg.” Virgil gives a tiny laugh. “But I’m not your classic D.I.D. Princey, and my baggage is a little more complicated than weak ankles and a bad deal.”

“Virgil, I love you.” 

At least that seems to shut him up. Roman tries not to think about the heat flooding his cheeks so he holds Anxiety’s shocked stare and says it again. “I love you. You colossal… emo stormcloud.” Roman shuts his mouth and waits.

And waits.

And okay, he wanted Virgil to shut up but now would be a really good time for some sort of response. But seeing as Virgil seems to have been rendered catatonic, he settles for giving the Dark side a twisted smile and a helpless shrug. “So… thoughts? On-um, on that?” He’d settle for anything really. Mostly just proof he hasn’t caused Anxiety to have a spontaneous heart attack.

“Virge, say something.”

Virgil seems to give up his fairly decent opossum impression and shuts his eyes. “I can’t believe it.” 

The prince laughs a little awkwardly. “Um… right. Well, believe it.” It’s certainly not the response Roman was hoping to hear. “I’m shooting straight here- eh, straight-ish. About as straight as a curlicue, really.” Okay, shut up Roman. The prince winces as the words stumbling from his mouth finally begin to register in his brain.

On the ground, Virgil begins to laugh. A light, carefree thing and it makes Roman’s shoulders sag with relief. Without opening his eyes, Virgil smiles. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Roman.”

And that hurts, hurts more than Roman thinks he has it in him to admit. Like a sliver of ice, inserted directly into his chest. But he staunches the wound with his best smile and grabs Anxiety’s hand. “Um- I think of all of us, I do. If you recall I am the fanciful, romantic side of this personality polygon.”

Virgil opens his eye slightly although he isn’t really looking the prince in the face. Roman respects the wish for privacy and focuses his eyes on the shuddering rise and fall of the Dark side’s chest. The dark glistening of dried blood coating Virgil’s still-black clothing. He ignores the painful noises coming from Anxiety that he knows has nothing to do with his numerous injuries and pretends not to notice the clear liquid trickling down his neck. He knows that if he looks up, there will be no hiding the wetness on Virgil’s cheek. “Roman, I-”

“Look, just tell me if there is any part of you that feels the same way.” He knows it is discourteous to interrupt, especially when trying to prove how much Virgil means to him, but at this point the prince is at his wit’s end. “Just- I get that you’re the nervous one Anxiety, but this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

The hand inside his grip tightens around Roman’s palm. “I’m sorry,” says Virgil.

Oh. Okay, so that’s what rejection feels like. Roman feels like he’s been punched in the chest. It’s different, being targeted directly versus having the feeling diluted by Thomas. Because this has nothing to do with their host, this is… Virgil doesn’t…

“Stop looking like a kicked puppy. I don’t mean that I don’t- you know…”

And just like that hope springs eternal. “What?”

Virgil shifts uncomfortably on the ground, groaning as he maneuvers himself to face Roman a little more directly, hair falling to cover the ruined half of his face. He says, “I need to tell you. If you- If you mean that thing you said-”

“Love isn’t a dirty word Virgil.”

“Would you let me finish, Princey!”

Roman snaps his mouth shut and gestures for Virgil to continue.

“Look I won’t-can’t, hold you to anything you just said until you know.” Through great effort Anxiety lifts his free hand back and pulls the hood over his head. Lowering its rim down to hide the upper half of his face. Roman’s lips twist a little in fond amusement at the behavior, but he sympathizes with the way one of Virgil’s fangs is peeking out to gnaw on his lower lip. This is hard for him. He’s afraid, and while Roman’s not exactly sure why, honestly he feels like he took the bigger risk admitting his feelings, he won’t let Virgil keep himself adrift in limbo for too long.

“If… if it’s too hard, you don’t have to tell me,” he says, even if it aches in him to do so.

“No.” Virgil shakes his head beneath his hood. “No, you deserve to know. I… I lied to you.”

Roman’s brow furrows. “What? When?”

Anxiety sucks in a breath that sounds like it grates as it makes its way down the Dark side’s throat. “I’m not like you. I don’t- I don’t have another half.” Virgil’s breathing is coming faster, the pallor of his cheeks turning from pale to an almost ashen sheen. The Dark side makes a sound of distress and pulls his left hand free of Roman to clamp over his mouth.

For a moment Roman’s mind screams that Deceit is keeping Virgil’s mouth shut. But then he remembers that the serpent is actually fighting on _ their _behalf at the moment and he realizes that no- there is no greater force at play here. This isn’t Virgil fighting deception. This is Virgil fighting himself.

“Virgil… it’s okay.”

Anxiety shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles from beneath his palm. “No, it’s not I’m-”

Roman puts a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder. “Virgil.”

Virgil shakes him off and tears the hand from his mouth. “Roman, I’m Paranoia.”

Oh.

_Oh._

And oh, it’s such a simple sentence, but if that doesn’t make a lot of things click in Roman’s mind. As the world seems to shift in its alignment, Roman watches in a kind of detached trance as Virgil turns over onto his side and curls into himself, back to the prince. The curved bow of his spine trembles with a primal kind of fear that Roman has seen many times in the fear-maddened nightmares he’s stalked on the edges of his realm.

It is a fear that screams Virgil is fully expecting to take a sword to the back. It makes Roman’s heart break that he can’t blame him. “I- _ I can’t believe you didn’t tell me_,” and Roman hates the way his voice comes out harsh and jagged, the way it makes Anxiety cower even more, but he can’t help but give voice to the splintering cracks in his spirit.

He breaks and he hurts and he hates, because Anxiety-... _ Paranoia, _ should have told him. Virgil should have told him a long time ago when all this mess had started. Roman had hunted, made it his _ mission _ to root out Paranoia and expel him. To purge the dark shadow he’d thought had been plaguing Virgil’s existence. All that, only to find out it was all a lie? If he’d known...

Roman feels bile rise up in the back of his throat and has to clamp a hand over his mouth just to keep from letting the contents of his stomach spill out between them. Sweet baby cheese… he’d cut off Paranoia’s leg. “V-Virgil,” he reaches out blindly to grasp the Dark side’s trembling forearm and clings to it with all he has.

Virgil says, _ “I’m sorry.” _And it is so wrong that Roman thinks he might leave a bruise with how tightly he is clinging to the Dark side right now. He shakes his head even though he knows the other side cannot see.

“No,” he says. “Don’t- please don’t say you're sorry, Virge.”

He’s never missed it. Not once when Virgil has flinched away from him. Has cowered, however slightly, from the sword at his hip. Going back to the first moments of their meeting, he has been attuned to the way the Dark side has always marked him as a threat. Roman had thought it a product of Anxiety’s penchant for being overdramatically cautious. Turns out, he’d had every right to be afraid. “Virgil, I need you to believe me,” he says. “Please, believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you.”

For a moment neither of them move, and then Virgil is turning over, the hood on his head falling back to reveal partially-healed injuries and a half-uninjured face marred in smeared eyeshadow and the cherry red flush left from fresh tears. Virgil licks his lips and works his jaw like he’s trying to parse out how to say something.

He looks up at Roman with something the prince might fool himself into thinking is hope. “Y-You’re really… not mad?”

Roman laughs. “Oh, I’m fricken livid,” he says, though the effect of the word is likely broken by his splitting grin. “But right now that’s not just in the back seat, it’s getting stuffed in the trunk. I’m just glad you’ve successfully pulled the rug out and we're both still standing.”

Virgil’s lips twist in confusion. “You were expecting something worse?” He’s staring at Roman like _ he _is the one who just recently suffered a major head injury.

The prince shrugs. “Well let’s be honest, with you there’s no telling how far down the rabbit hole goes.” Then he’s smiling again and Roman weighs the pros and cons of looping their conversation back to that- _ other _thing.

You know… that thing that prompted Virgil’s little derailing confession.

“So, not to jump tracks or anything, P.”

“You’re not calling me P.”

Roman dips his head in acquiescence. He’ll come up with more nicknames later. What's important is that he makes somerhing clear. “Virgil… Paranoia. This doesn’t change how I… I still-hey, did you do something with your eye?”

Virgil blinks. “What?”

The prince’s thoughts take a swan dive from the highest heights as he shuffles closer and takes the uninjured side of Virgil’s face in his palm. Roman brushes a thumb under Paranoia’s smudged eyeshadow. “Your eye. It’s- Virge, it’s green.”

A really bad feeling wells in Roman’s stomach and he fumbles with the zipper of Virgil’s hoodie to give himself more room to work. “Woah- hey, hold up a second!”

He ignores Virgil’s protest and shoves the hoodie back from the Dark side’s shoulder and pulls down the neck of his t-shirt. The bloodied tie and half-cape fall from the side of Virgil’s neck and Roman sucks in a breath.

A mossy green mottling, accompanied by a flaring of red, angry flesh reaches out with jagged threads from the beating, thickened mass of scar tissue along the slope of Virgil’s neck. Once opened up to the air it smells of sickness and death and rot and for a brief moment, Roman thinks he can see it grow beneath the Dark side’s skin.

“Roman?” Virgil looks up at him, expression twisted in confusion and it’s clear he doesn’t know what it is the prince is seeing. “Roman, what is it?”

He just had to say that thing about the rug, didn’t he? Roman looks back up into the brand spanking new green of Virgil’s eye and curses. 

_ “That son of a bitch.” _


	32. Chapter 32

“For the last time you guys, _ I’m fine_.” Virgil is very deliberately _ not _looking at his host or the other sides. The loose half-circle they’ve formed around him is starting to get claustrophobic, not to mention Roman’s obvious hovering, which is like pouring gasoline on the fire that is the Dark side’s anxiety, and he does not appreciate it. With a stubborn defiance he angles his head for his bangs to fall over and shade the left side of his face and the green eye that has become the source of the others’ utmost concern and fascination. His hand he keeps clamped over the discoloration on his neck.

Logan is the first to breach the personal space bubble and step towards him, ignorant as ever to the cornered animal vibes Virgil is exuding with his every pore. The teacher kneels on the ground beside where Virgil has plopped himself and reaches as if to pull aside the curtain of Paranoia’s hair. “Virgil, if you’d simply let us-”

_ “Just leave it!” _He is pulling his head back and hissing before he really gets a chance to register his own actions. And he does not miss the way all the others recoil a little at the sight of his fangs. He squeezes his hand tighter over his neck and turns the right side of his face away. “I’m fine. I can… I can fix this.”

“Are you certain? We are only trying to help.”

“Yeah, and I appreciate that, Logan,” says Virgil. “But I’d really rather not get poked and prodded at right now.” Besides, he can handle this. He prods at the heated mass of swollen flesh at his neck with the nail of his index finger and shudders at the way the soft tissue seems to pull at the healthy skin around it. From the impression he gets, it almost feels like roots of some kind of plant, spreading out from its main stalk. He can feel the stiff, foreign fibers reaching up his neck to tickle at his jaw and knows that if he were to look down at the right angle, he would be able to see the mottling of green beginning to creep down to his shoulder.

It’s… alarming, to think about. Not to mention makes him want to vomit to think of Remus’ poison circulating in his veins -the stupid octopus-, but he isn’t going to panic. It’s been a long time since the spider’s come across a dark side with venom more potent than his own. Not since he’d gone against Deceit’s advice and tried to get the jump on Rage before he was ready. He shudders with phantom pain at the memory of coming back to consciousness only to find Deceit hovering above him worriedly and a three foot stinger lodged in his gut. Compared to that nightmare, this is almost tame. Virgil can already feel his venom beginning to eat away at the infection in the slight heat of a burn in his skin. With enough time, it should begin to make progress.

A flash of bright blue snaps Paranoia back to the present. Morality hovers just on the outside of Virgil’s personal bubble and wrings his hands together. “Kiddo, could I at least make sure your other side is okay?” Patton’s eyes are watery when Virgil looks over and he sighs. 

“Yeah, Pat. Go ahead.” He’s a Dark side. He’s not heartless.

Patton immediately brightens up, practically skipping his way over where he wedges himself on Virgil’s little boulder and tentatively begins to prod at the absolute mess that is his right side. Morningstar to the side of the head, wouldn’t recommend it. He can feel the injuries healing, but he is still awash in black and blue, and the deep scoring where the points of the Duke’s weapon had carved through flesh and into bone are still bright red with fresh scabbing. Healing or not, he’s probably going to come out of this with at least a few scars. Fan-friggin-tastic.

“I need a first aid kit,” Morality says, lower lip stuck out in his grumbling. “And to give that no-good potty mouth a good stern talking to.” The fatherly persona fumbles around in the pockets of his khakis and pulls out a ziploc filled with packets of antiseptic wipes and a box of band-aids with different colored flowers on them. “Well, at least I have these,” he says, tearing into the first alcohol wipe.

Virgil grins through the first stinging touch of alcohol. “Dad, you broke the Duke’s nose with your face,” he says, poking at the taped-together frames teetering on Patton’s nose. “I think a ‘talking to’ would be a step down at this point.”

He means it as a show of admiration and of thanks. Half-mad with the frenzy of battle as he had been, having seen _ Patton _of all sides rushing out in the middle of two raging Dark sides just to try and protect him? It’s… humbling, to know how much their heart cares. 

Patton sniffles as he applies a band-aid adorned with bright blue hearts across the gash cutting through his cheekbone. Morality wipes his cheek on his shoulder, almost toppling his glasses as he does so. Virgil is alarmed to see the quiver in the Light side’s chin as he continues his work. “Pat?” He sends a panicked look to Logan who has his hands tucked under his arms and looks like he’s stuck in his own internal dilemma.

Roman just shrugs and Thomas… honestly Virgil isn’t sure where their host’s head is at right now.

“I’m sorry, Virgil,” he says, playing with the purple-flowered band-aid in his hands. “I-If I hadn’t, rushed out there… I-I think I just made it all worse.” The band-aid tears in the Light side’s grip and Virgil flounders at what to do.

“You were- Pat, you were just trying to help.”

Morality shakes his head and seems to lose whatever control of his impulses he’d been keeping in rigid check. Patton throws his arms around the Dark side and buries his face against Virgil’s right shoulder with the hug. It is Paranoia’s first instinct to push the unexpected affection away, but Patton’s shoulders are shaking so he fights the compulsion down and just accepts it. “I got you hurt,” Patton whimpers and Virgil feels his cheeks heat with the force of the others’ stares as they watch.

Virgil swallows and looks down at the hands resting between his knees. “If there’s anyone who gets unintentionally hurting someone,” he says, flexing his claws. “It’s me, Patton. You don’t have a corner on that particular road to Hell.” Patton pulls away, a watery smile trembling on his lips, and shuffles away on the boulder to give Virgil his space, something the Dark side appreciates not having to ask for.

Fingering at the colorful collection of band-aids he now has pasting together the right side of his face, Virgil clears his throat and glances in the others’ direction. “So,” he says. “Someone mind filling me in on what happened up there?” He throws a thumb in the direction of the mountain peak. “Turns out I don’t remember much after Remus gave me the world’s worst hickey.”

Roman and Logan share a look. “It’s perfectly understandable,” says the teacher, “that you were not fully cognitive at the time. Seeing as you were suffering from poisoning, severe contusions, a number of broken bones, internal bleeding, possible brain hemorrhaging, and a concussion.” 

Virgil blinks at the teacher and scratches the side of his nose. “Oh, was _ that _all?”

“It is quite an extensive list. Are Dark sides truly so robust that what I just listed is of little concern?” Logan cups his chin and his expression starts to take a turn for the more intrigued. “If so, that is truly fascinating.”

“Yeah, we’re real bruisers. Roman, care to tag in?” Virgil rounds on the prince, who jumps a little at suddenly becoming the center of the spider’s focus. Paranoia cringes a little inside. He can already tell Roman is overthinking things. Creativity’s inner voice is rambling and even without being able to hear it, Virgil knows he’s still stuck on… _ that. _ That, which is something Virgil is not ready to touch with a ten-foot pole because they can’t afford to have both Roman _ and _Virgil freaking out at the same time. Paranoia snaps his fingers. “Roman!”

“Oh-um, yes?”

“What happened in the mountain?” Virgil asks again.

The prince crosses his arms. “Deceit and I got there right after Remus- you know, um-”

“Bit me. Yes I know, I’ve got his cooties currently trying to eat my face off right now, let’s move on.” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Fine, you two crashed his party. Then where’s Deceit?” He hasn’t seen the serpent around. Honestly, if the other side doesn’t mind he might ask for a top-off. Wouldn’t hurt to have a little power-boost to take the edge off of fighting the Duke’s influence. Virgil scratches at tingling mass of flesh on his neck until he can feel blood under his nails and pulls back.

“Fighting Remus,” says Patton, patting the top of Virgil’s hand.

A furrow forms between Paranoia’s eyes. Hold up. “He’s what?”

Roman shrugs. “He assumed my form to draw Remus’ attention and gave us time to take you and escape.”

Virgil’s mind goes blank for a second and it takes a moment for him to realize that the rushing in his ears is the sound of his own heart pounding, speeding the flow of blood throughout his body. “Wait.” The spider climbs to his feet, ignoring the worried fussing of Morality who tries to urge him back down. Virgil narrows his eyes on Roman. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you _ left him up there_?” He’s pretty sure his chest is heaving with the effort to control his breathing. _ “Alone?” _

Roman takes a breath and lifts his hands as if to put them on Virgil’s shoulders. They stop, hovering, about an inch away from making contact. “Hey now,” he says. “It was his idea.” There is a broken half-smile on the prince’s face, as if he is trying to be soothing but knows deep in his gut that is an effort doomed to fail.

For a moment Virgil sees red, and unlike Roman, he has no problem making contact. He slaps the prince’s hovering hands away and shoves him back a step. “Are you kidding me!?” Watching Roman stumble, he decides, is not enough and Virgil shoves him again, this time successfully knocking Creativity to the ground. His face twists in an ugly scowl, despite the way it tears at the heavy scabs along Virgil’s right side to do so. Blood trickles from his brow. “So much for Disney prince, you no good _ coward_.”

Beneath him, Roman’s face pales and he looks stricken. The Dark, cruel part of Paranoia takes a certain satisfaction in the response, preens at having such power over the Light side with words alone. It pushes Virgil to see just how far those words could go. To entangle, infect, _ feed _on the misery his words could bring. After all, the prince so foolishly opened his heart. It would be… ungracious of the spider not to take advantage of the opportunity.

_ “Virgil!” _Whatever compulsion it is, either bravery or stupidity, something possesses Morality to walk up and grasp the spider by the wrist and pull him back. “Stop that!” Patton snaps.

“And you!” Virgil rounds on their moral side, tugging his arm away and pointing a blackened claw in the fatherly persona’s direction. “You just let them use Deceit as bait like that? What kind of a moral compass are you!?”

“I believe you’re misrepresenting the situation,” Logan decides to interject, clapping his hands once to draw everyone’s attention. “He was not unprepared, Virgil. Roman leant him his sword.”

His sword? Virgil wishes Logic were more expressive, if only so he could see Logan’s reaction to the dead scowl he gets for his half-assed explanation. The Dark side stares down his nose at Roman and watches with narrowed eyes as the prince climbs to his feet. He waits until Roman feels brave enough to meet his eyes to let the fury fully bloom on his face.

“That’s great, Roman. You left him alone up there with a homicidal maniac and a weapon that is just as likely to burn him to a crisp as help him beat the Duke.” At the looks of shock being passed around, Virgil hisses, baring his fangs. Above their heads, a thin veil of clouds begin to overtake the sun. “Oh, were you not made aware of that little detail? Yeah, that stupid thing burns like hot iron to a Dark side.”

“I didn’t know!” The look on Roman’s face turns defensive. “Please, try and understand. Virgil, we were all just worried about you!”

Understand. “Right,” he says. Virgil steps back and nods. Of course, he understands. He looks down, flexes the fingers of his left hand and, without warning of any kind, swings his fist into Creativity’s cheek. “Take your understanding and shove it up your ass Roman.” The prince’s head snaps to the side, but he does not fall.

Somewhere behind him, Patton is gasping and likely looking fit to faint given how quickly Logan shuffles out of view towards their moral side. That said, Virgil does not miss the disapproving frown Logic shoots him on the way. 

Roman spits a wad of blood from his lips and touches his fingertips to the reddening bruise on his cheekbone. _ “Ow.” _

Virgil turns on his heel and feels the cool, cutting flash of the mountain breeze wash against his skin. It plays with the violet locks of his hair and whips at the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him forward. Pulling him home. He sends a glance to Thomas, who has at some point stepped away from the group and is watching them all with a curious look on his face. Their host quirks an eyebrow in Virgil’s direction and is biting the nail on his thumb. His feet shuffle with a restlessness Virgil cannot gauge. Paranoia frowns and shakes his head. “I’m going back,” he says, looking away from their host and setting a path for the mountain.

He hears scrambling at his back and a hand grasps the crook of his arm in a vice. “Virgil, don’t be stupid.” Figures it would be Roman. 

Anger burns in Virgil’s chest and he growls. “Let go, Princey.” A shuddering limb, crooked but still mobile, slides from Virgil’s back. “Or do you want another hole to match the one in your shoulder?”

Still not letting go, Roman shifts around to stand in the spider’s way. “Were you not listening earlier? You don’t scare me Virgil, I know you won’t hurt me.”

Oh really? Almost without really thinking about it, his left hand flies up to grip the front of the black shirt Roman is wearing. The one that belongs to Deceit. The thought makes venom swell in the spider’s mouth. “I guess you weren’t listening either,” says Virgil. He pulls Creativity forward and brings his lips up to the prince’s ear.

“You should be.”

He feels the spider’s power sing and throws the Light side back, watching with a grim satisfaction as Roman leaves a trough of torn earth in his wake. He flexes his left hand, taking note of the green mottling at his fingertips, and stuffs it into his jacket pocket. 

Later. He’ll deal with it later.

“I’m going to help Deceit,” he says, projecting his voice for the others to hear. “Anyone wants to stop me, can join the swordless wonder over there.” A peek over his shoulder reveals that at least Logan and Patton know better than to try. But they do each offer a hand to help Roman to his feet.

“Kiddo,” Patton calls to him. “I get that you want to help him, I do. But you need to trust that Deceit knows what he’s doing.”

“And what if he doesn’t!?” If Virgil’s voice breaks at the end there, he hopes the others don’t notice. “He’s not like me and Remus, Patton. He doesn’t- Deceit doesn’t _ do _fighting!” His jaw is trembling and Virgil bites down hard to keep it still.

Logan frowns. “If you don’t recall, you lost last time you fought the Duke. Now you’re injured.” Logic crosses his arms and gives Paranoia a disapproving look. “If the battle is not settled already then I fail to see how your presence could in any way offer more than a distraction to Deceit.”

“I can’t just leave him alone up there.”

“Then like Patton says you’ll just have to trust him.” The sound of their host speaking pulls the attention of all the sides, and Virgil looks over to see Thomas give a helpless shrug. “And before anyone says so yes, I know how weird that is talking about the side of myself based on deception.” Thomas meets Virgil’s eyes and the corner of the human’s lips quirks upward a little in an encouraging smile.

“You weren’t there, Virge. When Deceit asked Roman for his sword.” Their host rubs the back of his neck and there is a dusting of red on his cheeks. “It was… honestly it was kind of moving. He might not be a fighter, but heck if he wasn’t going to fight for you.”

“I think,” Thomas goes on. “I think if you can find it in yourself to have faith in him, he won’t let you down.”

Virgil snorts. “You realize who you’re talking to. Right?”

Thomas shrugs. "Hey, didn't say it would be easy."

Which is precisely when the mountain above them seems to explode. Virgil catches himself with the support of his spider limb and hisses at the crashing roar that echoes through the sky. Thomas and the others all drop to the ground, clamping hands over their ears as a blossom of orange and red blooms somewhere above the cloudline. Through the milky film of fog that has rolled in, Virgil can spy a shadow moving with alarming speed away from the mountain peak, and when it passes over the shaded silhouette of the sun, its shadow casts the mountain base in a veil of darkness. The spider recoils.

Retracting his limb, Virgil pulls the hood over his head and backs away, the four eyes of his right side manifesting and darting to and fro in search of temporary shelter. Anything to hide from the airborne threat beginning a sharp descent into the forest treeline. A false sense of hope at ever being able to hide from this beast saturates the air.

“What _ is _ that thing!?” Thomas shouts over the ringing in all their ears.

Virgil cringes as the shadow lets out another roar. It breaks the layer of clouds and Paranoia gets little more than a glimpse of an enormous body before it disappears into the forest, shaking the earth with the impact of its landing. “I have no idea,” he says.

But it came from his mountain. So really, it can only be one of two things. Neither of which, as far as Virgil is aware, can fly.

Roman is on his feet and placing himself between the treeline and the rest of them. Virgil sees the prince’s hand twitch as if to reach for his sword, but then seems to remember that he doesn’t have it and balls it instead into a fist. “I think I do,” he says, voice tight.

Logan and Patton are each standing a half-step in front of Thomas, and the teacher fixes the seat of his glasses. “Care to elaborate?” he asks.

There is smoke billowing some distance off in the trees. The canopy shakes in a steady progression leading in their direction and Virgil can feel the heaviness of the power radiating from it. 

“Well, whatever it is,” says Thomas. “I’m sure it’s friendly.” The nervous smile undercuts their host’s words and Virgil’s eyebrow arches at the obviously forced optimism. That being said however, some part of the spider does seem eased. The heart is beating rapid-fire in his chest and Virgil doesn’t know if it is more fear, or anticipation.

The trees still and the world goes silent for a few breathless moments before someone breaks the treeline. A side with Thomas Sanders’ face, curling brown hair that shimmers with flecks of gold, and perfect, unmarred skin. He is dressed in black and carries a familiar sword at his hip. 

Roman’s mouth is hanging open. “You’re-”

“Hey guys,” the side steps up to Roman and waves to the rest of them with a hand wrapped in crisped green fabric. Honey-brown eyes find Virgil and the side’s shoulders relax their knot of tension. The Dark side smiles and there is relief reflected there that makes Virgil’s heart flutter. 

“Miss me?”

Yes, Virgil thinks, returning the smile. He really did.


	33. Chapter 33

“Your eye, it’s green.” 

As far as first words go, it is perhaps not Deceit’s best as he pulls back from the stranglehold embrace of the spider. The sardonic half-smile Virgil sends up at him confirms as much when the shorter side steps away from the hug and back towards Roman, who is staring at him like something out of a magic mirror. Paranoia’s lips twist and he lifts a hand to pull down the neck of his black t-shirt. “Yeah,” he says. “Parting gift from the Duke.”

The serpent hisses when he sees the mess of infected flesh and tissue that has taken over the left side of Virgil’s neck and a good portion of his shoulder. It stinks of oil and sulfur and Deceit narrows his eyes, Malice’s warning echoing in his ears. This needs to be stopped, and quick. “Here, let me help.” His fangs are already sliding into place inside his mouth when the prince steps in his way, arm outstretched.

“Wait just a second,” he says, stepping between Deceit and Paranoia.

Virgil frowns, shoving down the prince’s arm before glaring at Creativity. _ “Roman.” _

Deceit sneers. And after they’d put their differences aside too… What a shame. “Well, aren’t you a bundle of welcome energy.” There is a raw, burning instinct demanding the serpent sever the prince’s head from his body, but Deceit wrestles it down before claws are sent flying. He says instead, “I’m trying to help, Roman.”

“How about you introduce yourself first, then we’ll see about accepting your help.” Despite the spider’s protest, Creativity is angling his arm to tuck Virgil behind his back. Deceit arches his eyebrow in Paranoia’s direction.

“He’s kidding right?”

Virgil shrugs. “Don’t ask me.”

“Deceit, is that you?” Thomas is wandering closer, Patton and Logan hovering at his shoulders as he makes his way towards the other three sides. Their host’s eyes are flickering over his face at rapid-fire speed and the serpent can’t help the instinctive twitch of his neck to turn the left side of his face away. The eyes on him are beginning to burn and he does not appreciate it.

Deceit crosses his arms and locks eye contact with the spider who looks ready to outright crawl over Roman’s arm. While the mismatched gaze is unsettling in its unfamiliarity, there is no hint of doubt in Virgil’s stare. “Guys, cut it out. Seriously.” Paranoia all but hisses into Roman’s ear. “That’s Deceit.”

Logan steps out from behind Thomas and takes a careful step in the serpent’s direction. “Are you sure?” he asks, pulling the glasses from his head to wipe them on his shirt hem. “I seem to recall Deceit having certain… facial features, that were rather distinctive.”

This time the serpent doesn’t try to suppress the hiss that bubbles up his throat. “Your point?”

Virgil drops his face into his palm. “Oh geez, I get it. Deceit.”

“Hm?” Deceit turns back to the spider who is wiggling one hand and pointing to it with the other.

“What is… I don’t- Virgil, what are you doing?” The serpent lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head and frowns. When the spider simply continues to repeat the motion, Deceit sighs and decides his best bet is to mimic it. “Is this some sort of-of…” his voice drops off as his eyes are drawn to the smooth, unbroken skin flexing before him.

Wait.

Breath coming short, Deceit brings up his other hand and stares at both palms, tearing off the burnt remains of Remus’ sash to feel the soft expanse of human skin coating his palm. “That’s not-” it shouldn’t be possible. Heart jolting, he brings the soft pads of his fingertips to the left side of his face and feels his knees go weak at the touch of his cheek, unmarred by the broken line of an unhinged jaw.

Human skin. It’s all human. A laugh rises in his throat before the Dark side can think better of letting it free and he is overcome by a sweeping sense of pride. “I can’t believe it.” Never will he ever stoop so low as to conjure one for himself, but damn if he doesn’t wish he had a mirror.

“Here.” The touch of their host’s hand around his wrist is like fire as Thomas presses a phone into Deceit’s hands. He looks down to see the camera function turned on. “Figured you might want a look,” says Thomas.

Deceit gives their host a grateful nod before glancing down to the reflective surface. The face that stares back is his -or well, Thomas’- but… not like he’s ever seen it before on himself. Endless pale skin with two brown eyes and brown hair that each shimmer with just the barest hints of gold. No slit pupil, no drooping pink lid, and not a single scale to be seen.

Why, if he didn’t know better, Deceit would say he almost looked like a Light side.

“I guess I can see why you might not recognize me,” says Deceit, handing the phone back, a little reluctantly. 

Thomas slides it into his back pocket with a shrug. “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise.”

Patton is the next to approach, stepping up to Logan’s side and smiling. “I didn’t know you had a form without scales, Deceit. Why haven’t you ever used it before?”

“I didn’t.” The serpent’s tongue darts out to sweep at his lower lip, but rather than flicker in the air with it’s forked end, what he feels is a length of muscle that is solid and short. “Huh, that feels weird.” Confused, but not displeased by the change, Deceit looks back to Virgil, whose shoulders are quaking with barely concealed amusement.

At the serpent’s questioning look, Paranoia shrugs. “Guess killing the Duke came with a glow up,” he says, nodding to the sword still strapped to the Dark side’s hip. Deceit’s hand moves to the hilt, and he flinches a little at the burn.

“Right. Speaking of which,” he pulls the weapon free and holds it out to Roman. “You can take that back. It’s really not my thing.”

Roman takes the sword, face still twisted with the slightest edge of suspicion. Deceit smirks. That, at least, is familiar.

“I take it you being here means…” the prince doesn’t finish and the atmosphere around them takes a nosedive for the more despondent. Trading a look with the spider, Deceit gathers Remus’ green sash from the ground hands it out to Roman. He can feel Virgil’s eyes on him as he does so, and sees out of the corner of his newly twenty-twenty vision as the spider lifts a hand to scratch at his neck.

“Here.”

Roman stares down at the burnt and tattered cloth for a moment before taking it into his hands. His fingers are trembling as they brush the fabric, but Deceit doesn’t mention it. The prince’s head bows, casting his expression in shadow, and Deceit can see the way he is clenching his jaw hard enough to grind teeth. 

“Roman, you need a minute, buddy?” asks their host. Thomas is biting his lip, looking unsure of how to respond and Deceit can feel the edges of false sympathy beginning to formulate in the human’s mind. Thomas will not mourn the Duke. Honestly, none of them likely will, Morality included given the indecency that was by nature Dark Creativity’s forte. But any Dark side can understand loss.

It is in _ their _nature to feel bereft. Isolated. Alone. So, just this once, Deceit won’t judge the angry, confused tears that look fit to spill over Roman’s cheeks. He steps around the prince and into Paranoia’s space, joining the quiet comfort of the spider’s diminished shadow.

“Oh, Roman.” No sooner does Deceit leave the space, that Patton is rushing to fill the void. The moral side wraps his arms around Creativity, bracing his weight as the prince’s strength wavers. He doesn’t fall, Deceit doubts the Light side would ever allow himself to be truly broken by his brother, even in this context, but Morality does slump as Roman’s head meets his shoulder.

It is truly a sickeningly emotional mess to behold, and by the pinched look in Logic’s eyes, he is not the only one to think so. Deceit turns away and looks to Virgil, who has backed off several steps. There is a furrow down the center of Paranoia’s brow, and beneath a curtain of violet bangs, his green eye is faintly aglow.

Deceit grasps the Dark side by the arm and leans in close. “Come with me.”

Mismatched eyes meet his and Virgil nods. With a quirk of the spider’s wrist the mountain’s shadow sweeps around them, a black cloud to hide their retreat to a space far enough away to grant them a small measure of privacy. 

For a few moments they say and do nothing, the two Dark sides simply taking in each other’s presence for the first time in what feels like eons. The serpent can feel the spider probing at the raw edges of his power, the frayed ends of Paranoia’s threads seeking to recontextualize the new power scale that rests between them. Deceit allows the careful observation, remaining absolutely still as he lets Virgil’s eyes roam. And in the meantime, he takes his own stock of the spider’s injuries.

The green eye and spiraling infection on his left side and the raw, scabbing wounds on the right fight for his immediate attention and the muted stains of blood coating much of the spider’s clothing make the serpent prickle with rage. Taking a careful step forward, watching for any sign of skittish discomfort from the spider, Deceit reaches his hand up and brushes the faded eyeshadow beneath Virgil’s green eye. The pad of his thumb hovers a moment on the smooth curve of Paranoia’s cheek.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get there quicker,” he says.

Paranoia smirks. “Not your fault.” The spider reaches a hand up and Deceit expects him to brush off his lingering touch, but instead Virgil wraps his palm around the back of his hand and transfers it to his opposite side. “Here,” he says, guiding Deceit into cupping his cheek. “I’ll be honest, I can’t really feel anything on my left side right now.”

“What?” 

It’s not a lie. Deceit would be able to tell if it were, but the lack of urgency in the spider’s tone does not match the content of his words. The bright red flush of angry, infected skin stretches across the side of Virgi’s neck, reaching out like a hand seeking to grip him by the throat. 

Paranoia traces the line of Deceit’s sight and clamps a hand over the visible span of the wound, though the serpent isn’t sure if he’s aware that the spreading varicose veins have extended to the back of his hand as well, along with the unnatural green tinge. “I’m working on it,” says Virgil, a stubborn set to his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid.” With perhaps a measure of too much haste, Deceit offers Paranoia his wrist. “We need to get that out of you fast. Here,” he barely resists pushing the flesh of his arm against the spider’s lips. “Let me help.”

Take it, he thinks. He can already feel his aspect coiling jealously around the power given to him by Malice. The combined essence of the Dark buoying the serpent to a height of influence that is as intoxicating as it is terrifying. He feels as if he could stretch himself across the entirety of Thomas’ mind. Wrap his coils around each and every realm, the same way the spider hand once perched its legs. Deceit shudders. Take it, he begs, before I don’t want to give it back.

Fingers brush Deceit’s pulse point and push it back. “No,” says Virgil. “I can handle this.”

Deceit’s arm drops back to his side in an instant. “You can’t be serious,” he says. He’s not. There is a steady thread of denial buried deep in the spider’s words and though the serpent can taste the self-deception, something drives him not to look at it too closely. “Virgil, your eye is GREEN.”

Paranoia’s lips twist in a scowl. “I’m aware.”

“Is that a normal thing to you?” Deceit grabs the spider by the hand and shoves the sleeve of his hoodie up, exposing the tight red skin and striping lines of green criss-crossing the limb from wrist to elbow. “Does _ this _look normal to you?”

“I said, it’s _ fine_.” Virgil pulls his arm away, green eye flashing. “I’ll fight it off.”

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

He’s really determined to make this difficult isn’t he? Deceit groans. “Virgil-”

“I’m not taking the power away from you!” The pair go silent as Virgil’s words hang between them. Paranoia bites his lip and cuts his eyes to the side, pulling the hood over his head to shadow his expression. “I don’t… I don’t want it.”

So, he could tell. Deceit supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. After the spectacle he made of himself getting down from the mountain and Paranoia’s natural ability to gauge danger. That being said, there is a root of shame tangled somewhere in his head that is nearly lost in a wave of relief. “Are you sure?” he asks, and he hates the part of himself that hopes Virgil can convince him.

Virgil pulls the arm of his jacket back down and curls his discolored fingers inside the cuff. “Thomas doesn’t need me weighing him down every second of every day,” he says. “The way I did after I consumed the others the first time.”

Deceit frowns. “You were trying to protect him.”

“I was making him _ miserable_.” Virgil grips his left arm and squeezes with trembling fingers. “I thought I could do things better than Malice or Jealousy or any of the others, but I was wrong. All I ever did was paralyze him, tangle Thomas up in so much fear and anxiety that he didn’t know which way was up.” Paranoia looks to the side and Deceit follows his gaze to their host and the Light sides gathered around him. Virgil says, “I’m glad you have it now. With you at the helm, Thomas can be more ambitious. You and Roman working together can help him achieve his dreams.”

That certainly does paint a rosy picture. Deceit shakes his head to dispel the image forming in his head of having a permanent seat at the table. A hand on the wheel of Thomas’ life. Like this, he wouldn’t have to disguise himself as one of the Light sides to be heard. No slipping his way into thoughts or waiting for a chance to strike. He could just, be.

A hand twines itself in his, tangling their fingers and squeezing his palm. “It’s okay to want those things, Deceit.” 

Is it really? A roaring, greedy, gluttonous part of Deceit wants to take Virgil’s words and run with them. And even a dark seed of malice that the serpent won’t ever touch whispers that all that stands between him and his ultimate potential is a weak and injured spider just waiting to be devoured. Those same thoughts make Deceit’s stomach turn.

“Not if you need it more.” Pushing back Virgil’s hood, Deceit takes the spider’s face in his hands and leans forward to brush their foreheads together. “I’ll give it up. Even my chance with Thomas, right now, if you ask me.” A cold wind cuts between them and Deceit feels something inside him ease when he catches a familiar whiff of chocolate and lavender hidden beneath the heavy shroud of the Duke’s scent. He can’t stop his eyes from drifting to Virgil’s slightly parted lips. 

“... no.” Virgil pulls himself away and Deceit releases his breath in an exhale. He is unsure if it is a sigh of disappointment or relief. The spider shakes his head. “I need to try and do this on my own.”

“Fine.” Deceit doesn’t think he has it in himself to keep trying to convince him. At least, not right now. “But if this goes too far-”

“Then I’ll have you to drag me out of trouble, same as always.” Virgil’s smirk is one of almost uncharacteristic confidence and it makes Deceit’s heart constrict to see it. No one should ever put that much faith in a snake.

He says, “Me and your daring prince, I suspect.” Yes, he thinks at Virgil’s embarrassed flush. He hadn’t missed sensing that particular revelation. He’d been tempted to seal the prince’s mouth shut before the words could pass the Light side’s lips, but had let the urge pass. If that was who the spider wanted, Deceit was not going to stand in his way.

“Can we please not talk about that,” says Virgil, eyes screwing shut. 

Deceit laughs. “What, embarrassed? Come now Virgil, it’s just me.”

“No- it’s not, I just-ugh.” Despite the rouge hue steadily consuming his face, Paranoia manages to throw a punch against Deceit’s arm. “He doesn’t even know me, Deceit. Not really.”

The serpent hums. “Well, no helping that except time I suppose.” Movement out of the corner of his eye alerts Deceit to the waving of Morality’s arm, urging them back. “Speaking of which, looks like we’ve been summoned.”

He turns to lead them back when Virgil catches his arm. “Deceit, wait.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For coming to save me.” Virgil’s purple eye shines with a soft kind of light and Deceit works furiously to commit the image to memory. 

“For you,” he says. “Always.”

When they rejoin the group, it is to find Roman with a carefully closed off expression on his face, though the green fabric peeking from one of his pockets makes it painful and obvious as to what is plaguing his thoughts. Deceit keeps his distance, deciding he would do well to keep Virgil between himself and the prince. No need to risk any revenge killings in case Roman was feeling particularly sentimental. Thankfully though, with Morality hovering nearby ready to jump in at the first explicit sign of distress, the likelihood of such a blowout was looking less and less likely.

Gathered in a loose circle, Thomas takes a deep breath and sets his hands on his hips. “So… now what?” Their hosts eyes breeze over Roman for a moment, before he seems to think better of directing the inquiry to him and moving on to Logan. “I mean… the Duke’s gone, Virgil’s back, I guess _ technically _we found the spider. I guess our job’s done here.” The human shrugs and gives his assembled sides a hopeful grin. “Right?”

Logan clears his throat. “Yes well, it was certainly quite the circuitous journey,” he sends a sidelong glance to Virgil who is quick to roll his eyes and look away. “But we have accomplished much. It would be beneficial for us to facilitate your return to consciousness Thomas, before this dream completely derails your circadian rhythm.”

Virgil shudders. “Too late for that. It’s been what, two… three hours?” Paranoia groans. “Guess we’re not sleeping tonight.”

“But it was worth it to spend so much quality time with all of you!” says Morality, throwing his arms around Roman and Virgil respectively and tugging them in close. “And we even got to know you better, Deceit!” The smile Patton sends Deceit’s way is glaringly genuine and it makes it hard for the serpent to look their moral compass in the eye.

“Uh- thanks, Patton.” He’ll just… omit the part about maybe being the one to start this whole mess to begin with.

“Very well.” Logan nods. “Then let us proceed to waking.”

Thomas straightens his posture and nods, shutting his eyes with a look of expectation. Roman nods, cracking his knuckles, and Deceit can feel Creativity’s aspect begin to stir.

“Uh, just one second guys.” 

Thomas peeks an eye open. “Yeah, Virge?”

Virgil makes a vague gesture to his left side. “You all go ahead, but I need to stay here for a bit. I’m not leaving the imagination until I get this taken care of.”

“What?” Roman frowns and steps away from Thomas. “Virgil, if you’re staying we are too.”

Virgil’s cheeks flush and to Deceit’s utter amusement, he shuffles a half step behind the serpent’s shoulder. “S’fine, Roman,” says Virgil. “Deceit and I can handle it.” The grin Deceit sends the prince’s way might be a tad bit feral, but who’s to say.

“Ridiculous.” Oblivious to the intent of putting Deceit in his path, Roman weaves around the serpent to grasp Virgil’s right hand. “Come back to my realm. You can spend the duration of your convalescence in the comforts of my castle.”

Deceit has to clasp a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out in laughter. He’s not sure, but he thinks there might be steam spouting from Virgil’s ears.

“Deceit…” Thomas looks disapproving and the serpent sends their host his best impression of an apologetic shrug. It seems to work.

Paranoia snatches his hand back and stuffs it deep into his pocket. “Really, I was just planning to rough it out here.”

“Actually, I think we might be better off accepting Roman’s offer.” Deceit lifts his hands when Virgil’s head snaps to him with a look of utter betrayal. “Hear me out. If we stay here in a Dark realm we’ll be feeding that infection just as much as your own power.” He gestures towards Roman. “We squat on the prince’s dime, and we starve the Duke’s poison out.”

“But won’t that mean starving Virgil out too?” asks Morality.

The serpent shrugs. “Not if Thomas stays. His residual anxiety should be enough to keep Virgil a step ahead at least.”

Their host nods. “Of course. Whatever I have to do.”

“Well I suppose we can get caught up on all that work we’ve been putting off since we really won’t be sleeping tonight.” Logan grumbles, but Deceit can sense that the complaints are harmless. The teacher may not claim to feel, but that’s as thin a lie as any the serpent has ever spotted.

“Does that mean we’re teleporting again?” asks Thomas, looking a little queasy.

Virgil rubs the back of his neck. “That drop in the desert really spooked you, didn’t it. Sorry.”

Thomas waves his hand, dismissive. “It’s alright. You didn’t mean to.”

Deceit can’t help but let a smirk slip. “Don’t worry. No teleporting this time,” he says. At Virgil’s questioning look he gives the shorter Dark side a wink. “I’ve got something else to try out.”

“Oh?” It’s actually Roman who looks the most excited, squaring himself forward and all but bouncing on his toes. “Do tell,” he says, almost giddy. 

He must have already guessed it.

Deceit steps back from the others and lets his eyes slide shut. The first time up on the mountain had been a bit chaotic, the churning inferno of power overwhelming to behold, but now he knows what to expect. He lets his aspect expand, scales spreading out to engulf him head to toe as his body shifts into a larger, greater form. Deceit feels his neck extend and he shakes off a wave of vertigo as his weight distribution shifts. It’s so different, standing on four limbs rather than slithering on his belly. Not… unpleasant though.

Heat burns in his throat and Deceit releases it in a puff of smoke, his tail pooling behind him in a lazy coil. Below, Thomas and the others are staring up at him, wearing matching looks of shock and awe.

“Well, damn,” says Virgil, who is the first to brave the gap and step towards him. Deceit lowers his great head, a contented grumble stirring in his chest as Virgil lays a hand against his scaled snout. “Roman’s dragon-witch can suck it.”

A rumbling laugh blows a wave of hot air against the spider’s face, throwing back Virgil’s hair. Behind him, Roman lets out an excited whoop. “Yes!” The prince is darting forward and vaulting himself over Deceit’s forepaw without waiting for anything even resembling permission. Deceit trades an amused look with Virgil as he feels the side scrambling up to the space between his shoulder blades.

“THOMAS! Get up here!” 

He suspects Roman must be waving by the way their host returns the gesture, looking a tad bit more tentative than his creative side had. Logan on the other hand appears pale and slightly horrified and Patton just looks to be excited on Roman’s behalf.

While the others make their way up to join Roman, Deceit angles the bend of a broad, leathery wing to assist Morality’s climb, Virgil lingers by the gold dragon’s head. He’s smiling, and despite the intrusion of his green-tinted eye, it is one of the most beautiful things Deceit has ever seen.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, speaking just loud enough for Deceit to hear. The serpent- or dragon at this particular moment- shifts his head forward and rumbles. Virgil grins. “I think you just won them over.”

“VIRGIL!”

“What, Princey?”

“Quit lolly-gagging and climb on! We’re Daenerys Stormborn-ing this shit!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, sends a bolt of webbing up near the others, and swings himself up. “You know,” he can hear the spider say. “You still haven’t watched season eight, Roman. You sure you want to call it that?”

“No spoilers!”

“Suit yourself.” 

Deceit lifts himself to full height, careful to feel for any signs of his passengers slipping. When they all appear stable and he feels Virgil give him an approving stroke down his spine, Deceit spreads his wings, crouches back on his haunches, and launches them all into the air.


	34. Chapter 34

Patton decides within the first few gravity-defying moments that he absolutely _ loves _flying. The stomach-lifting drops with each beat of Deceit’s wings and the cool blasting of air against his cheeks make the moral side’s heart race, and the innocent wonder the whole experience is fostering in Thomas and the others fills his soul with joy. Even Virgil, who normally carries at least a small kernel of worry at the undertaking of any even slightly risky activity, seems too caught up in the moment to build up his customary level of concern. No, all Patton is getting from his wonderful family is excitement and rapture and delight. Or at least… everyone but Logan.

“Logan, come _ on! _You need to look around, this is amazing!” Patton shouts over the roaring wind and looks back over his shoulder to the teacher who is hiding his face in Morality’s hoodie. He can feel the pinch of Logic’s glasses as they are pressed against his back and the tight grip of Logan’s arms around his waist. As Deceit banks left and the world tilts, Patton laughs and reaches down to grip the back of Logan’s trembling hand.

The inchworming of Logan’s chin to his shoulder alerts Patton before the teacher tries to speak. “How much longer? I am beginning to feel nauseous.” There is a sharp contraction in Logan’s stomach and Patton feels a pang of sympathy as Logan gags and his cheeks puff.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lo. Just hang in there.” He pats-heh, the back of Logan’s hand and looks forward to peek over Thomas’ shoulder to the front. Virgil is there, sitting in the lead position at the base of Deceit’s neck, with Roman pressed against his back. Both of their heads are turned to face each other as they lightly bicker. “I forgot too much suspension of disbelief makes you queasy,” says Patton.

Logan shudders. “Don’t remind me. We shouldn’t even be able to breath this high up.”

“Just pretend it’s a rollercoaster,” he suggests. Patton settles in, prepared to keep rubbing the back of the teacher’s hand for as long as it takes while turning his attention back to the kids up front. Roman is shaking Virgil by the back of his shoulders while Thomas listens in with a grin on his face.

“Oh don’t be a downer, Virgil,” says Roman. “Just one!”

“No.”

“I’ll even make it short!”

Virgil’s eyes are narrowed when he turns to glance back, but there is a twist in his lips that tells Patton that he doesn’t really mean it when he says, “We’re not singing, Roman.”

The prince groans and lets his head drop against Virgil’s shoulder, which is how he misses the way the Dark’s side’s face softens into a smile. His eyes meet Patton’s and Morality makes an encouraging gesture with his head. Anxiety- or well, Paranoia- rolls his eyes and flicks the crown of Creativity’s head. “Which song?” he asks.

“A Whole New World!”

Virgil wrinkles his brow and sneers. “No way.”

“Why not? It’s perfectly appropriate!”

“First of all, Deceit isn't a carpet. Second, not happening.”

Roman recoils, hand moving to his chest in utter dismay. “But… _ Aladdin! _We love Aladdin!” He leans to the side and shouts up towards the dragon’s bobbing head. “Deceit, you agree, right?”

Deceit angles a large golden eye back in their direction and gives a thoughtful hum before dipping into a nod. Virgil gasps and hisses. “You traitor!”

_ “Hey, it’s not like it’s my favorite or anything. All that subterfuge?” _ The dragon’s mouth stretches in a toothy smirk and his shoulders shudder in amusement. Patton can feel Logan cringe. 

Thomas on the other hand, lights up in front of Patton. “Me too!” He and the dragon share a conspiratorial grin. “Looks like someone has good taste.”

“You see?” says Roman, returning focus back to Virgil and nudging him with an elbow. “Come _ on~, _please?” 

“Ugh,” the Dark sides slumps. “Veto. Pick something else.”

_ “How about Go the Distance?” _offers Deceit.

Virgil shoots a net of webbing that smacks Deceit in the snout. The dragon huffs, flight pattern staggering as he sweeps a forepaw up to pull off the sticky substance. Virgil grunts, self-satisfied as he says, “Why are you helping him? You’re supposed to be on _ my _side.”

_ “Hey, don’t get snippy. You love Hercules, and you know it.” _

“You do?” Roman’s mouth drops open. “I thought Black Cauldron was your favorite.”

Virgil’s shoulders bunch up to his ears and his face goes scarlet. “...it’s a guilty pleasure.” 

_ “He adores Meg.” _

“Feel free to stop talking whenever you feel like it, lizard-breath.” Virgil looks like he wants to sink right off the dragon’s back. “If we’re singing anything, it’s going to be Something Wild from Pete’s Dragon.”

Roman’s posture immediately lightens as he nudges Virgil’s shoulder. “My fair gentlemen, we have ourselves a special request!” The prince throws his arms in the air and nearly tips off his perch if not for the slim spider leg that slips out of Virgi’s back to curl around his waist and haul him back forward. “I take it you’re referring to the 2016 remake?” he asks, not missing a beat.

Virgil’s cheeks flush pink. “Duh,” and he looks steadfastly ahead. “...it’s at least situationally applicable.”

Beneath them, Deceit shakes with laughter. _ “Aw, Virgil. Does that make me the Elliot to your Pete?” _

“Don’t start,” Virgil says, glaring. “Or the next web is going in your eye.”

Roman gives a thumbs up. “Whatever works! Thomas, you in?”

Their host shrugs through a smile. “I think I remember a few lines.”

“Wonderful! I’ll take care of the rest.” Creativity snaps his fingers and Thomas’ face goes blank for a moment before opening up in a grin. 

“Awesome, got it.”

Virgil drops his head into one of his palms, clawed fingertips dragging through his hair. “I can’t believe I just agreed to this.”

“No takesies-backsies!” shouts Roman.

Morality smiles at the picture made by their little family gathered on the back of a giant dragon while Creativity conjures the first resonating strings of a violin. Thomas and Roman are grinning at each other, voices harmonizing with the music while Virgil sits back and lets himself enjoy. Patton feels his heart swell at the ease that washes over his dark, little stormcloud. His eyes are closed and there is a smile pulling at the ends of Paranoia’s lips that Patton is sure he isn’t aware of. Even Deceit is utilizing the limited vocal range of his form and humming in time with the music.

It’s a little slice of heaven, and it makes Patton’s aspect sing. 

Thomas takes the first verse. The melody carries surprisingly well given the wind that surrounds them and as their host goes on, his voice grows in strength. At the start of the next verse, he hands off to Roman. They make a powerful duo, and as Thomas rejoins for the bridge, both look to Virgil as the song moves into the first chorus.

Patton holds his breath waiting to see if the anxious Dark side will actually follow through when Logan tugs on his hoodie. Morality sighs, putting off saying anything as Virgil tentatively melds his voice with the others to sing of facing fear and finding home. He holds off through the start of the next verse before clearing his throat and tapping on Thomas’ shoulder. Behind him, Logan makes an appreciative noise.

“Hey kiddos, sorry to interrupt but I think Logan would appreciate a break.” Logic’s trembling has been getting consistently worse as the flight has gone on and the arms around him are clinging all the more desperate. Roman banishes the music around them and quiets down for Patton to speak. “Thank you, Roman. Deceit, how much further?” Morality asks.

“Hold on back there, specs. I can see the edge of the forest there.” Roman thrusts an arm forward to where the milky veil of cloud cover seems to peel off the verdant carpeting of the canopy to reveal open plain. The sudden reintroduction of the sun marks the clear line between the Dark realms and those of Light.

“Home sweet home,” says Roman as the first spires of a sprawling castle begin to appear.

“Patton,” Logan says, “I’m going to eliminate the contents of my stomach in approximately two minutes if we do not-mmm.” Logic cuts himself off as Deceit turns them into a sudden dive. Ahead of them, Roman and the others let out whoops of excitement at their sudden acceleration and even Patton laughs, pressing himself tight against Thomas’ back as the dragon begins a corkscrew flight pattern that arcs downward before snapping up when two great leathery wings suddenly extend.

“I need to get off this thing,” Logan moans.

_ “Sorry about that!” _ Deceit calls back. _ “But this might be a bit of a rougher landing than I thought.” _

“Hm?” Patton shifts to the side to see that they have closed much of the distance from the forest to the castle. Unfortunately for them, said castle appears to be surrounded by small figures scrambling about as well as several large wooden structures that seem to be aimed in their general direction. “They don’t look happy to see us,” says Patton.

Ahead of him, Thomas does a double take. “Roman, are those _ catapults_?” Their host nearly slips from his perch as something large and circular is suddenly flung in their direction. “HOLY-” 

_ “Hang on!” _Deceit launches them into a sharp climb. As their flight path turns vertical, Roman and Virgil lean themselves forward against the dragon’s back and Thomas is slammed back against Patton. Morality grunts as his face is smashed against the human’s neck.

“Ow.”

“Sorry, Pat!” Thomas fights the current of wind to lean himself forward. “Roman!” he calls. “Why are they attacking us? Isn’t that _ your _castle!?”

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding~woah!” Another three boulders, these coated in tar and set on fire, are launched in their direction. Deceit dives once more, pulling up just meters from the ground and rushing headlong towards the mass of figments assembled in the courtyard between them and the castle. Patton can feel heat surge in the belly of the dragon beneath him and swallows back a pang of concern as Deceit arches his head back, mouth wide.

“Deceit don’t!” Morality snaps his eyes shut and wishes his hands were free to plug his ears as they come to a sudden halt. He waits for the sound of screams and the acrid smell of burning flesh to assault his senses. Instead, what he gets is an ear-splitting, but ultimately harmless roar.

When no one screams Patton peeks an eye open to see the figments dressed in plated armor scrambling backwards while another strides towards them. The familiar mop of dark hair and black facial markings is a relief as Vi calls off the panicking fantasies and rushes forward, spear in hand.

“Boss, is that you?” the fox calls up to the group, sending Deceit a suspicious glare. Blue fire licks at the fox’s empty palm as he stares down the gold dragon. Patton has to admire the figment’s courage. He can feel the care with which Roman crafted the being as he takes note of the nervous but determined way the figment holds himself.

Deceit lowers his great head and opens his mouth to reveal what Patton suspects is an impressive row of sharp teeth. _ “Still up for that round two, fluff ball?” _

_ “Deceit,” _ Patton scolds, kicking lightly at the dragon’s flank. 

Vi, to his credit, only shifts his weight back, but does not retreat. “Anytime, serpent.”

“Oh, both of you cut it out.” Roman slides from the dragon’s back to land on the ground. He gives the side of Deceit’s head a playful shove as he opens his arms to the figment. “Vi!”

The fox’s shoulders slump with relief. “Ro, thank Disney.” The flames go out from the fox’s hand and he shoulders his spear before giving his creator a hug. “Couldn’t have given us a warning before scaring your kingdom half to death?”

“Give YOU warning!?” shouts Thomas. “You tried to shoot us out of the sky!”

Vi’s lip curls up in a snarl. “Oh, it’s you again…”

“Excuse me!?” 

“Roman,” says the fox, completely ignoring the human in their midst. “You told me to prepare for a possible incursion by the forces of Darkness. Then we hear nothing from you and see a giant dragon oozing Dark power heading straight towards us!” Vi gestures to Deceit. “Rudy just about had a heart attack!”

From the base of Deceit’s neck, Virgil facepalms. “Oh geez, Roman.”

“Ah.” The prince nods and scratches the back of his head. “I did say that. Didn’t I?” Roman laughs a little nervously and shrugs. “Well you can tell the others to stand down. Your prince returns victorious!”

“Yes, congratulations” says Deceit, shrinking back down to his human form once Patton and the others dismount. “Quite the daring rescue followed by a dramatic duel. You were superb.” The serpent grins, buffing his fingers against the shoulder of t-shirt while Virgil elbows him in the arm.

“Don’t be an ass,” says Paranoia.

Vi tilts his head to the side, confused, before shaking himself and looking the rest of their group over. Patton finds himself holding his breath as the fox’s blue eyes linger on Virgil. Flashes of the sudden attack in the desert that had ultimately led to Virgil running off on his own stir in his head and Patton finds himself reaching out with his free hand to grip the Dark side’s palm. Not this time he thinks to himself, squeezing both Logan and Virgil’s hands. 

The fox steps forward, all eyes on him as he moves into Virgil’s space. Deceit growls under his breath and holds the figment back by the shoulder. “Watch it,” he warns. Patton’s not surprised to feel the resentment radiating off of the serpent as he glares into the figment’s back.

“Relax,” says Vi, scoffing. He and Virgil eye one another and sneer. The fox tilts his head and sniffs at the infected flesh of the spider’s wound. Virgil’s green eye flashes and Vi makes a sound of disgust. “Boss, you know your friend here reeks of the Duke right?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “I’m getting _ real _tired of you commenting on my smell,” he says.

Patton frowns and pulls Virgil back towards himself, grateful when the Dark side lets himself be lead. He releases his grip on Logan’s hand to hold Paranoia more securely. “We’re- we’re fixing that,” he says to Vi.

“Really?” the fox arches an eyebrow. “Cause it seems to me that every time I see you, there’s just another layer of bad laid one right over the other.” 

Virgil hisses low under his breath, eyeshadow darkening. “Well, we can’t all spend our time frolicking in rose gardens.”

The fox makes a hacking sound. “Maybe so, but there is this thing called a bath…”

“You know,” the spider pulls away from Patton and steps into Vi’s space. “Forget Deceit, you and I never finished our own fight. Care to pick up where we left off?” Virgil rolls his shoulders, and even though no legs sprout from his back, four eyes open up on his right side and glow a menacing purple. 

Blue fire licks up Vi’s arms in response. “Sure about that?” asks the fox. “You’re looking a little worse for wear there, doom and gloom.” 

“Boys, enough!” Patton throws himself between the two before they can come to blows, thrusting a hand against Virgil’s chest and hovering the other in front of Vi. He can feel the heat of foxfire resonating from the figment and glances over the fox’s shoulder to Roman, looking for help. “No more fighting!” Morality can feel his cheeks puff with the strain to hold back his frustration and when Vi looks entirely unmoved, he turns on Virgil. “Kiddo, please just let us handle this, okay? You need to rest.”

Virgil huffs. “But-”

“_Please, _Virgil.”

Paranoia bites his lip and shoves his hands into his pockets as he seems to debate whether or not to do as Patton asks. And in the meantime, to the fatherly persona’s relief, Roman takes Vi by the shoulder and pulls him aside. 

Virgil sighs. “Fine. Let’s just… get inside.” The Dark side angles his head for his bangs to shadow half his face. “I can feel Roman’s minions getting trigger happy back there.”

“Hm,” Deceit hums and shuffles closer to Virgil’s shoulder. “Do you think they’re more spooked by you… or me?”

“Alright, fine!” A short distance away, Vi throws his arms into the air and stalks away from Roman. “You vagrants want rooms, or not? Follow me.” The fox waves his arm and turns for the castle, shouting to the vague, mingling figments as he goes. “Show’s over folks. No showdown with the Prince of Darkness today!” Vi snaps the fingers of both hands and the faceless soldiers vanish like smoke in the wind.

Thomas balks. “He can _do_ that?”

“It’s called delegating,” says Roman. “I have a lot of projects in progress at all times, Vi and Rudy help me run them. Giving them some control over minor figments helps things run a lot smoother.”

“Huh.” Logan taps his chin. “I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder if my room might benefit from such assistance. Roman, tell me-” Logic strides ahead to pick at Roman’s brain about the capabilities of his fleshed out figments while Patton and the others round out the back of the group. 

Deceit hovers behind his shoulder opposite of Virgil. “So, Prince of Darkness huh?” He nudges Virgil in the arm. “Looks like Roman made you royalty. I assume you and I will abuse that privilege for the benefit of our amusement?”

Virgil snorts. “Oh _maliciously_.” Patton can’t see the Dark sides’ expressions, but he can feel the mischief of the two feeding off each other like penguins huddling together for warmth. Unlike cute flightless birds however, he doubts anything good will come of that kind of support.

Patton says, “Play nice you two. We’re guests.”

“Ugh.” Deceit groans and Patton can see Virgil slouch out of the corner of his eye.

“Whatever.”

As they reach the end of the courtyard, the two looming doors of the castle open up to admit them. Patton can feel the two Dark sides behind him stiffen as the grandiose entrance hall appears before them, and while Roman drags Thomas forward, excited to share all the minute details of his elaborate creations, Morality slows to a halt just outside the threshold. Paranoia and Deceit come to a stop on either of his sides.

“Hey, he says, taking each of their hands. “It’ll be okay. Virgil, you’ve been here before, right?”

Virgil swallows and gives a mute nod. The hand in Patton’s grip is radiating heat and the tightness of the infected skin is only slightly less worrisome than the shifting glow of his left eye. Virgil shakes his head as if he were trying to dispel a thought. “I have,” he says. “It’s just… something feels off this time.”

Patton smiles through his worry and squeezes Virgil’s hand before doing the same for Deceit. “We’ll figure it out.”

Paranoia sighs and a bead of sweat traces the side of his face, muddied by dirt or dried blood or something that seems to give it an oddly black hue. “Once more unto the breach, I guess.”

Deceit bites back a laugh and follows as Patton leads them forward. “Famous last words,” he says.

Together, the three step inside.


	35. Chapter 35

Logan frowns as he watches Thomas shift his position on the chaise longue for the fifth time in as many minutes. He notes the way their host uncrosses his legs, leans back against the arm of the modified couch, and drums his fingers along the burgundy fabric with an aimless kind of energy that has been getting progressively harder to ignore with each passing hour. From the privacy of the kitchen bar, he observes Thomas’ fidgeting as Patton rifles through the overstocked refrigerator at his back.

“I’m thinking good old-fashioned peanut butter and jelly for lunch, Lo. What do you think?” Patton asks without looking back. Logan can hear the clacking of annealed glass mason jars as Morality sifts through Roman’s impressive collection of Crofters jam flavors. “Ooh, looks like Roman’s still got a few jars of Logan’s Berry back here.”

“That will suffice, Patton.” The refrigerator falls shut and footsteps shuffle before plates and utensils are being pulled from the kitchen shelves. The gentle rhythm of sound as Morality hums to himself is a soothing weight on the constant thrum of thoughts running through Logic’s mind.

There is a fascinating kind of comfort in the familiar surroundings of Thomas’ apartment, even as dramatized as they are here in Creativity’s realm. To simply be able to sit on a bar stool and watch their host daydream on the couch is a wonderful mundanity that Logan finds himself increasingly appreciative of. A vast improvement on trudging through the wilderness of the Dark side. That being said however, all other factors being returned within range of their normal constant, Logic cannot help but be aware of the things that have changed.

He watches as Thomas picks at the loose gold thread of the couch stitching until it comes free and pulls. The cotton stuffing of the couch back is exposed, and the human’s left hand picks at the white fibers almost absentmindedly. “Does Thomas seem restless to you?” he asks Patton?

“Hm?” Morality joins Logan at the peninsula and slides a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a one-to-three part ratio and a cup of water in front of him. “Thomas?” Patton leans forward on the table and props his chin on the heel of his palm. The moral side’s lips quirk as he squints in their host’s direction. “To be honest Logan, I haven’t really noticed.”

Thomas kicks his legs up on the chaise and drops a few clumps of cotton on his face, letting them sit for a moment before blowing them away to fall soundlessly to the ground. They join a steadily growing pile that stirs with an errant breeze. Logan hums through a bite of his sandwich. “And how’s Virgil?”

Patton’s demeanor visibly wilts and he rubs his eyes beneath his glasses for a moment before letting out a drawn out sigh. “The same. Deceit has him on strict bed rest and says he’s improved a bit.”

Logan’s glances at Patton out of the corner of his eye. “I’m anticipating a ‘but’ in your statement.”

“But,” says Patton. “I don’t know, he doesn’t look any better to me.”

Apprehension settles into Logan’s abdomen somewhere between the small intestine and the stomach. “Has the infection spread?”

“What? No!” Patton shakes his head and makes an abortive gesture with his arms. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just, he looks so tired and his left eye…” Logan can see as Patton tries to subdue a shudder. “I don’t know,” says Patton. “Sometimes I feel like it’s watching me, but when I look it’s not Virgil staring back.”

“I see.” Logan stores Patton’s assessment away for later consideration and refocuses back on Thomas. “Thomas, come eat. This might be a dream, but the act of consuming food may still offer a level of mental comfort and grounding.”

“Cool.” The human leaps from the couch and skips over to the table, straddling a bar stool and resting his elbows on the counter as Patton turns to assemble another sandwich. “Thanks guys.”

Patton looks back over his shoulder and smiles. “No problem at all, kiddo.”

“How are you feeling, Thomas?” asks Logan as another plate is set in front of their host. Their host takes a bite and shrugs.

“Fine,” he says around a mouthful of bread, peanut butter, and jam.

“Chew your food, Thomas.” Patton crosses his arms and frowns as their host goes still for a moment and swallows. 

Wiping a few stray crumbs from the corner of his mouth, Thomas grins a little sheepishly. “Sorry, Pat,” he says, clearing his throat. “Say, where’d Roman get off to?”

“Off seeing to his duties,” says Logan. “Remember? He said he would return within the hour, so he ought to be back soon.”

“Ah.” Thomas nods and tears at a piece of bread crust on his plate. “Guess I wasn’t really paying attention. By the way,” he says, flipping topics with nary a tip of the hand. “I’ve been thinking, do you think Virgil’s face is going to be, like, permanently messed up?” Their host makes a vague gesture to the right side of his face. “I mean some of those gashes- _ eesh. _Makeup’s only going to do so much there.”

Logan hears a plate clatter as Patton almost slams the dish on the countertop. “_T__homas. _That is not a very nice thing to say.”

“What?” Thomas holds up his hands, defensive. “I’m just being honest here. I mean, the mismatch eyes are kind of cool and all but, let’s call it how it is, the Duke did a number on him.” Their host pops a piece of shredded bread crust into his mouth. “But hey, it’s no big deal. He’ll get better or he won’t, right?” Thomas winks and pushes the half-eaten plate of food back in Patton’s direction before hopping off the bar stool and wandering back to the center of the living room. “Tell you what. I’m getting a little bored, so if anyone’s looking for me I’m going to take a look around.”

Logan slides off of his own stool and starts to make his way around the peninsula. “Thomas, that does not seem like a wise decision. You should at least stay here until Roman returns.”

The human visibly slouches. “Ugh, fine,” and he falls back on the couch. 

Patton steps up beside Logan, hands fiddling with the arms of the hoodie wrapped around his shoulders. “Okay, maybe you have a point,” he says as they watch Thomas flip through channels on the room’s television before settling on some sitcom rerun and tossing the remote to parts unknown. “That was a little odd. He’s not usually so insensitive.” Patton gnaws on his lower lip.

“Indeed.” Logan crosses his arms. “Additionally, I’m not sure if he is even aware, but I’ve observed Thomas systematically deconstructing at least four pillows and he hasn’t been able to sit still for longer than fifty-two seconds at a time for the past two hours.”

Patton nods. “You’re thinking about what Deceit asked you. Before we went up the mountain.”

“Yes,” says Logan. “Deceit implied that if the Duke were to succeed in defeating Virgil, it would be paired with some kind of explicit change in Thomas’ behavior. I am wondering if that is not what we are seeing now.” 

“But we stopped that. Remus is gone,” says Patton.

Logan sighs. “Or so Deceit told us.”

_ “Logan.” _ Patton elbows Logic in the arm and tugs him back towards the kitchenette area, although Logan doubts Thomas is paying much attention to them regardless. Still, when Patton speaks it is in a hushed whisper. “After everything that’s happened, you really think he’s lying about this?” asks Morality, crossing his arms and frowning. “Lo, I can _ feel _how much he cares about Virgil.”

Logan raises both hands. “I’m not disputing that,” he says. "However, I will point out that it is in his _ nature _ to be deceptive. Perhaps even to himself.” 

A familiar voice clears its throat. “Well, that doesn’t sting at all. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Logan.” Patton makes a kind of high-pitched yelp and jumps away from Logan as Deceit enters the apartment, letting the door click shut behind him. The entrance of the Dark side is subtle as ever, and as used to his comings and goings as they’ve all become since the start of their castle stay, it has not quite eliminated their knee-jerk reactions.

“Welcome back,” Logan greets, and Deceit grunts, striding over to the chaise and shoving over Thomas’ legs before sitting down himself and letting his head fall back with a groan.

Thomas shimmies himself up to a sitting position. “What crawled up your butt?” he asks.

“Deceit, are you alright, pal?” Patton flutters over to the couch and frets, hands hovering in the space between them like he’s not sure what to do. It’s been a fascinating relationship to observe, Patton testing for boundaries and Deceit pushing the edges of his comfort. Logan can understand, after the bumpy road of integrating Virgil, Patton’s reluctance to push too far too fast. But honestly, if the pattern of tensing and relaxing muscles is anything to go by, then Logic would say the serpent appears more than amenable to any affection Patton has shown his way. 

Still, the serpent huffs and turns his face away, burying his mouth against the fist of his propped up arm. From his position near the kitchenette Logan can see a collection of scabs and purple bruising in the process of fading along the Dark side’s inner wrist. “Fine,” mumbles Deceit.

Obviously not.

Logan takes a fortifying breath and steps closer to the group. He notes the way Deceit’s eyebrows are furrowed and the far-searching expression in his eyes. “It’s not working,” he says, the reality sinking like a pit in his stomach. “Is it?” It’s not really meant as a question. 

Honey-gold eyes snap to Logan and glare. “It’s working,” says Deceit. “Just… slower than I’d like.”

“It’s been days, Deceit.”

“I’m _ handling _it, Logan.” 

The murderous look Deceit is sending him is pointless, but Logan feels no need to point that fact out. Leaning against the banister of the spiraling staircase, Logic does the mental math. “Sixty-two hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds.”

“Uh… what?” asks Thomas, but by the way Deceit holds his gaze, he knows the serpent understands. He is smart, and if overwhelming agenda did not curb Deceit’s ability to perceive facts without mental filtering or bias, he might even go so far as to call him clever. Nevertheless, they are who they are. Deceit says nothing and Logan crosses his arms.

He says, “That is how long we’ve spent here in Roman’s realm. And how much progress have we made?” 

The muscles in Deceit’s jaw tick. “You have a better idea?” he asks and waves his free arm in the direction of the door. “By all means, go work your healing magic, then.”

“I don’t have healing magic.”

“I know!” The serpent twists on the couch, bracing both hands on the chaise’s back and hissing in Logan’s direction. Logic ignores the defensive display, but Patton’s flinch beside him does make Logan edge a step in the moral side’s direction. Deceit also does not miss the reaction, and closes his eyes, forcing himself to relax. “Sorry, Patton.”

“I-It’s okay, pal. We’re all a little stressed right now.” Patton turns on his heel back to the kitchenette and Logan can hear him starting on meal preparation yet again. “Are you hungry, Deceit?”

Logan’s almost certain he sees the Dark side shudder at the thought of eating whatever it is Patton is making, but he does swallow back a grimace and nod anyway. “I could eat,” he says. 

“So, hey,” Thomas shuffles over closer to Deceit and leans an elbow over the couch back. “Is Virgil coming, or…?”

The sounds from the kitchen go quiet as Patton turns an ear to listen. Logan too, finds himself holding his breath for Deceit’s response. It’s been well over fourteen hours since Virgil had all but fled the shared apartment space, hand clamped over his mouth and face pale and clammy. Deceit had followed after and returned alone. Paranoia has not left the room he claimed for himself since.

“I don’t think so,” says Deceit.

“Well, do you think he’d let us in to see him?” asks Patton. There is a half-made piece of toast with jam in his hands and Logan plucks it for himself before it can be offered to the reluctant Deceit. Morality hardly notices as he wrings his hands. “I thought we were all in this together?”

“Did I just hear a High School Musical reference?”

Contrary to Deceit’s mute entry, Roman enters the apartment space with a dramatic sweep of the door. The wood smacks against the adjacent wall, and all eyes turn in the prince’s direction. His face is flush, his hair askew, and the cuffs of his white jacket are stained brown with dirt. There are pine needles pinned to his epaulets and Logan thinks he can see the black blood of a nightmare speckled across his cheek.

Deceit has noticed too. The serpent stiffens on the couch and his eyes narrow on Roman’s blade. “Off hunting?” the Dark side asks.

Roman laughs, scratches the hair at the back of his neck, and tries to wipe his cheek with the palm of his hand. All he succeeds in doing is smearing the black hue into an even wider surface area. “Yes, Vi and I,” he ducks his head, “we went looking for stray nightmares at the edges of my realm. Quite a few followed you here, snakeface.”

Deceit braces his chin against the back of his hand and arches an eyebrow. “You’ll have to come up with some new nicknames there, Roman.”

The prince rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, it’s on my to-do list. Listen, I went looking because I thought maybe it could help Virgil.” That actually makes the serpent sit up a little straighter. Roman goes on, “I figured since, you know, you Dark sides seem to grow in power by feeding on each other, I’d help our little darkling fill the tank.”

“And?”

Roman shrugs. “He took them. Shooed me out before he did anything with them though. I don’t think he wanted me to see.”

Deceit snorts, pretending not to see as Roman sends him a glare. “Right. Of course,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to harm your delicate sensibilities.”

“Oh, shove it up your hairy-”

Patton gasps. _ “Roman!” _

“I mean… it wouldn’t bother me,” he says, crossing his arms. Deceit just shakes his head and continues chuckling to himself. Roman bristles. “Vi’s hunted nightmares before. And I have him track plot bunnies all the time.”

“Trust me, prince,” says Deceit. “Watching your glorified stuffed animal devour a nightmare and watching _ Paranoia _do the same, are two very different things. We Dark sides don’t do quick and painless, and we don’t do gentle.”

Logan’s actually a little disappointed. He is curious to see for himself, despite the grim, life-threatening circumstances under which he’d been given a glimpse at Virgil’s previous victims. This brutal method of power transference seems like such a volatile creation. It is so foreign to the pliable, shared influence that flows between himself, Roman, and Patton.

“Can I watch?” asks Thomas.

“No.”

“No!”

“From what Roman just said, I doubt he’d let you in.”

_ “Absolutely NOT!” _

Deceit frowns and snatches Thomas by the back of his t-shirt, hauling the human off the chaise and back towards Logan and Patton. The snake all but tosses their host into Morality’s shocked arms. “You two,” he says, pointing between human and side, “need to stay joined at the hip for a while. Let Patton buckle you up on the moral high chair.” Then he rounds on Logan. “How long has he been acting like a creep?” he asks.

“I am not!”

The Dark side rolls his eyes. “Logan?”

Logic considers for a moment. “Well, he was singing Ring Around the Rosie to himself yesterday.”

“Guys come on, seriously?” Thomas pulls away from Patton but Deceit shoves him back with a hand on his chest.

The Dark side narrows his eyes on their host. “No. I’m not kidding, you stay put.” Patton dutifully wraps his arms around Thomas in a bear hug and the serpent nods. Deceit bites his lip and Logan watches as his eyes dart back and forth in some internal deliberation. “_Damn it. _I knew he was lying; I need to go,” he says, turning on his heel.

Roman scoffs. “Oh, so what? None of us can interrupt, but you can just waltz right into Virgil’s room and-”

“Prince, you come too.” Deceit snaps his fingers and motions for Creativity to follow. 

“Oh… okay then. Barging in it is.” Roman salutes the others and turns to follow Deceit back out the apartment.

Something stirs in Logan’s mind. Something about the confident stride in Deceit’s step, the way his hushed conversations with Virgil have ebbed and flowed in their vehemence over the course of their stay. Like no matter how uncertain the rest have been in waiting out Virgil’s recovery, Deceit has not appeared anything but sure-footed ever since he stepped from Paranoia’s mountain. It clicks, and Logic dashes off to follow them.

“Logan, where are you going?” asks Patton, who has transitioned into a sitting position with Thomas planted directly in front of him. 

Logic doesn’t still his stride. “Wait here,” he says, and pulls the apartment door shut as he passes it. Deceit and Roman are some distance down the hall as he calls to them. “Deceit!”

The serpent stops, turning to Logan with a tight expression on his face before nodding for Roman to continue without him. So, he wants this conversation alone? That’s fine. The teacher marches up to the serpent and frowns. He waits until Roman rounds the corner and gives them the privacy of the corridor, and then shoves the Dark side against the wall. He is somewhat surprised that Deceit lets him. “Explain yourself. Now.”

The serpent licks his lips, likely a lingering habit from when he still had his forked tongue. “Explain what, Logan?”

Logic backs off, releasing Deceit from the wall. The sudden application of force didn’t work to unsettle him, no sense in keeping up the pretense. Logan straightens his tie and clears his throat. “You could end this, couldn’t you? If you wanted.”

Deceit turns half his face away. Had he still maintained a split visage, his scaled half would most likely have hidden the tightening of his jaw, the wavering in his eye. Logan waits a moment for the serpent to compose himself before Deceit faces him again. “Believe me. Whatever you think you understand about the situation, you don’t.

Logan huffs. “Fine then. Allow me to list the conclusions I have drawn thus far, and you stop me when I have something wrong. Agreed?”

Deceit opens his mouth, but Logic doesn’t give him a chance to object.

“First! You and Roman are going to Virgil’s room because you doubt his ability to fight off Remus’ poison on his own.”

Deceit works his jaw. “Yes.”

“Second,” says Logan.

“You _ really _don’t have to list them numerically.”

"_Second__. _You have in your possession a store of power which, if you gave it to Virgil, would allow him to heal himself without any real difficulty.”

The serpent hisses and shoves himself away from the wall to stalk down the corridor. Logan follows, trailing at Deceit’s heels until he stops at the alcove of one of the castles’ towering stained-glass windows. The light of the sun lights up the gold in the serpent’s hair. 

“And third. For reasons I cannot understand, rather than giving Virgil that power, you are keeping it to yourself and-”

“I TRIED!” The echo of Deceit’s shout echoes across the hall, and outside, the near constant bridsong ceases. Logan starts, falling silent as Deceit steps from the sunlight and into the window’s shadow. “I tried,” he says again. The Dark side radiates emotional turmoil and Logic knows he is not equipped to deal with it. Unfortunately for them both, however, Patton’s services are currently in use elsewhere.

“How so?” he asks, attempting to keep his voice low and without the level of force that normally signifies aggression.

Deceit wipes a hand down his face and suddenly looks a lot more tired than Logan had previously thought. The serpent says, “When I first came down the mountain. I pulled him aside and I- I offered it to him.”

Interesting. “He said no?”

“What do you think?”

Logan frowns and folds his arms against his chest. “So, he doesn’t want it. And you do.”

Deceit’s head snaps in Logan’s direction and he glares. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“I’m not… keeping it because I like feeling powerful. If he asked me to I’d give it to him in a heartbeat but, it’s not that simple.”

Feelings. Always one of the first things to get in the way of a perfectly reasonable solution. Logan sighs. “I think it is. That strength, however you Dark sides quantify it, is yours at the moment, not his. If you wanted to pass it on to him, I doubt he could stop you.”

Deceit bristles. “I’m not going to _ force _it on him!”

“We may not have a choice.”

“It’s not our choice to make. Period!” Deceit makes a quarter turn to face the window and very deliberately does not look at Logan. 

Logic watches the Dark side’s eyes as they fall shallow to the view outside. Instead, their gaze seems to linger on the transparent reflection of Deceit’s human face. “Tell me honestly,” he asks Deceit. “That this has nothing to do with certain, physiological changes that came as a result of you gaining that power.”

One of Deceit’s hands come up to trace the smooth plane of his left cheek. “You think I’m that vain?” he asks. “That I’d let my best friend _ DIE _just to keep a pretty face!?” He balls his hand into a fist and shatters the glass window. The tinkling of the jagged shards onto the corridor floor ring in the sudden silence and blood beads against Deceit’s closed fist. The skin pushes out the embedded debris before closing up beneath drying smears of rogue.

Logan takes a moment to let the emotional outburst settle and takes a deep breath. “It’s not vanity to not want to be feared,” he says, reaching up to brush a few lingering shards of glass from the Dark side’s shoulder. “I know that we have all made it clear in the past that your presence, however essential as part of Thomas’ personality, was… an unwanted one. When Anxiety- I’m sorry, Paranoia- became part of the group, the role of antagonist fell to you.”

Deceit grimaces. “Don’t try to sympathize with me Logan. You’re shit at it.”

Logic clears his throat. “Very well. Regardless, I’m sure it hasn’t slipped your attention that Thomas and the others cannot help but be more amenable to your inclusion when you are like this,” he says, gesturing to the entirety of Deceit’s person. “I do not blame you for wanting to preserve that change.”

“Well, thanks.”

“However,” Logan holds up a finger for silence. “Should this want, however understandable, play even the slightest role in your refusal to give Virgil that power. If we lose him because of it…” Logan shakes his head. “I cannot guarantee that I would not help Roman in bringing down vengeance upon you like an act of God.”

Deceit maybe shivers, but composes himself before Logan can be sure. “It doesn’t,” he says. “And your whole psychoanalysis schtick was cute, but inaccurate.” The serpent hisses and rounds Logan in a half-circle. Logic has to turn to keep Deceit from his back.

“This thing you’re asking me to give him,” he says. “It’s not some Dark-soaked energy bar.” Deceit’s eyes flash and the shadows beneath his feet swell to blot out the reach of the sun. Logan takes a step back as the corridor is swallowed in darkness. Yellow eyes glow against the shadows for a moment before blinking and returning the balance of light to what it was. Deceit says, “It _ is _Thomas’ dark side. Paranoia accumulating this power is the fear that kept Thomas awake at night all his life. It’s the self doubt, the anger, the hate. To embody all of that… is not an easy task.”

Logan frowns. “You seem to be benefiting from it quite nicely.”

“And I’ve had it less than a day of Thomas’ life. Let alone over a decade.” The serpent turns and stalks off to follow where Roman went off ahead. He makes it about halfway before stopping, though he doesn’t turn back. “You didn’t know him back then,” he says. “Back when Virgil really _ was _ Paranoia_. _I used to think that distancing himself from his power was a mistake, that I was losing him.” Deceit shakes his head and tilts it back, sniffing. “But now, being here in the imagination, it’s reminded me of what we were like back when Thomas was a kid. Before any of this ever started.”

Logan really hopes Deceit isn’t holding back tears when he presses the heel of his palm against his eye. Patton would be so disappointed in him for not offering a hug. 

“I lost him once,” says Deceit. “When I didn’t stop him from hunting the other Dark sides. I won’t lose him again.”

“And if that means letting him die?” asks Logan.

Deceit throws a cold stare over his shoulder. “It won’t.”

Logic stands in place as Deceit crosses the rest of the corridor, and he says nothing more until the serpent disappears around the corner. Master of deception or not, Logan might not have the emotional quotient that Patton does, but he can read a human face for tells. And without the scales to skew the expressions on his face, the subtlety of his muscle movements, Logan finds reading Deceit to be so much easier.

That is how he knows he’s right, if not to what extent, when he whispers, “falsehood.”


	36. Chapter 36

He feels like shit. Virgil’s arms tremble as he stares down at the white porcelain beneath him, lets the rushing stream of water drown out the pounding of his own heart in his ears, and grasps at the cool touch of the sink beneath his hands. Black claws tear at the white surface, dragging troughs through the material as Virgil fights the churning in his stomach. Something shatters in his left hand, digging shards of ceramic into his palm.

_ “Fuck.” _Virgil hisses and brings the offending hand up, staring at the oozing blood and greenish-yellow pus welling against the white chips sticking out from his skin. Varicose veins probe at the wound, emboldening along the spider’s skin, and the porcelain falls away. Thick ropes of flesh close over the injury, and even though the bleeding stops, Virgil can hardly say it feels healed. Not when even that makes him feel like there is less of himself now then there was before. 

Taking a fortifying breath that shudders as it moves past the swollen, strangling mass on his neck, Paranoia forces himself to look in the mirror. Despair is an old, almost comfortable feeling. It is as characteristic a state to Paranoia as fear or suspicion. But in this moment, it claws at him like a rabid beast, threatening to tear him asunder. Because, there is a streak of white through his hair. 

Not a large one, just a few strands that cut through the sea of purple like the first flash of light over the dawn horizon, but enough. Enough because it wasn’t there before. Virgil lifts his right hand -the one that is still, undoubtedly his- and twists the silver strands between his fingers. He yanks them out to the root. 

Virgil’s lip curls and the mottling of green skin spiraling up his left cheek draws focus to the sparking of his green eye. Like it’s glaring at him through the reflection in the mirror. Or maybe not glaring, the glint of victory means it might be taunting. It’s taunting him.

“You vindictive ass,” Virgil mutters to the lingering shadow of the Duke. “Are you that petty?”

The way the left corner of Paranoia’s lips torques upward, completely independent of his right side, would suggest yes. The crooked half-smile seems to lift him by the chin, quirking Virgil’s head to the side as his left hand lifts to trail a finger down the side of his neck.

Virgil growls and forcibly turns himself away, yanking his left hand down by the wrist and digging his claws in when he can feel a shadow of the muscles straining. It takes most of the strength he has, but Virgil wrests control from his left side and shatters the bones of his wrist. The pain is brutal and sharp but wonderfully clear. It sparks and burns like fire up his arm and for a brief moment his left side feels like his own again. Paranoia grins through the welling of tears and waits for retaliation.

He does not have to wait long. 

It feels like something thick and writhing wraps itself around his insides and Virgil’s knees give out as his abdomen contorts. He throws himself over the rim of the toilet and quakes as bile and salt water and blood come arcing out his throat. The awful concoction of taste and the burn of acid perpetuates the cycle of emesis for another few rounds before the last of the blood Deceit offered him in his last visit is gone and the grip on his stomach eases. Virgil flushes away the evidence and lets himself sink to the floor, sighing as the cool tiles soothe the burning heat of the battle under his skin. Hair drifts over his eye as he turns his head to press the skin of his right cheek against the ground. The bangs shutter his vision and as his focus shifts, he watches their purple hue fade away to black.

Paranoia watches the color leak away and has to bite back the sound of pain that wants to claw its way out his throat. He’ll get it back.

He _ will. _

There is still the nightmare Roman brought him in the tub. A small, weak thing, barely worth an anxious thought if it had ever managed to wedge its way into Thomas’ dreams, but Paranoia’s mouth waters at the thought of it.

The spider turns himself on his front, the fabric of his hoodie weighs heavy as though it were made of lead rather than cotton. He draws out his limbs, only fitting four into the confined space of the bathroom, and uses their flagging strength to lift him up. He crawls closer, and venom swells behind his fangs as he spies the limp, shadowy creature barely alive and unable to move more than the occasional twitch.

Virgil wonders if Roman thought it dead. Vi, the fox, had been the one to carry it to his doorstep, and the knowing look the figment had sent him suggested that he’d been the one to make sure not to destroy the creature before handing it over. There is no doubt in Paranoia’s mind that Roman would hate the fact that Virgil was milking it for fear. That he was holding himself back as long as he could to age the despair and terror the creature felt. But Vi was a creature of shadow. Born in the Light but crafted to know the Dark.

He might not like the fox, but Vi clearly understood the value of live prey.

The shadow trembles as Virgil descends, wrapping it in his webs and pulling it close. He breathes in its dread and the spider moans in want. The feeble struggle against the iron of his silken threads is spice to the already mouth-watering meal and Virgil sinks in his fangs. Wind and shadow and the heaviness that fills the air before a storm floods the spider’s mouth. His claws sink and tear and the euphoria is too brief a thing. A dessicated husk is all that is left in Virgil’s hands in what feels like mere seconds after he first began.

“Damn it.” Virgil lets the nightmare drop and retracts his limbs, able at least to stand on his own power with the energy he has consumed. A peek to his bangs however, reveals that the color is still gone. 

It’s fine, he tells himself.

_ It’s really not. _

The white is back. And his left wrist is good as new. 

Virgil shudders and beats a hasty retreat from the bathroom, moving towards the couch in the main living space of the room he has claimed. Sweat is beading on his brow and he pushes himself to make it before his left hand manages to wrap itself around his humerus. He falls against the cushions just as the bone of his upper arm begins to creak. He waits to hear the snap.

The front door clicks open instead.

“Virgil?”

It’s Deceit. Something that is not the spider _ hisses _inside of him and Virgil’s left arm drops away. Paranoia sighs in relief. “In here.” He’s not sure why the serpent has returned so soon, but he is glad for it. Deceit’s presence floods the room like the drowning heat of summer, and it almost hides the spark of Light that tickles at the edges of Paranoia’s awareness.

“Princey?”

Deceit is the one he sees first, rounding the edge of the couch and standing a short ways off, arms crossed and an uncomfortable expression on his face. Something is bothering him, and Virgil will see to it later, but his attention is drawn first to the prince who appears next and comes to kneel beside his knee. “Hey, Virge.”

The sheen of russet in Creativity’s hair is all the bolder in the shadow of the room and Virgil fights the numb muscles of his left side to eek out a small smile. “Thought I told you to stay out,” he says, though there is no real bite to it.

He really wishes he could feel the hand that Roman sets on his knee, and out of the corner of his eye Virgil can see Deceit’s flinch. “Just here to see how you’re doing,” says the prince.

Something inside him bubbles with maddened laughter and Virgil coughs to hold it down. “M’fine.”

Roman frowns and when he reaches forward, it is to run a finger from the base of Virgil chin to his lip. It comes away black with ink. “Want to run that by me again?”

Virgil swipes the cuff of his sleeve along the corner of his mouth and looks away. Deceit catches his wandering gaze and holds it. “Thomas is acting strange,” says the serpent.

Oh. Virgil shuts his eyes and groans. “We expected that, didn’t we?”

“What?” Roman sounds alarmed and when Virgil opens his mouth to spin a lie, Deceit cuts him off.

“Not like this. Just tell him,” says the serpent, jerking his head towards Roman. “Clearly what we’re doing isn’t working. He might be able to help.”

The spider _ hisses. _ He doesn’t want to tell Roman. Doesn’t want to risk Creativity pushing him to reclaim the power he gave up. Maybe a part of him that isn’t really _ him _hisses out of ingrained fear and hatred. Either way, Deceit quells it with a look. 

Power suits the serpent. Even without manifesting in his new form, Paranoia can feel the shadow of great and towering wings arching to either of Deceit’s sides. The arch of his neck is regal and it demands submission. The spider reacts accordingly.

He looks to Roman, turning his head so that his purple eye can see him too. “Deceit has more power than me right now,” he says. “That was bound to have some effect on Thomas.”

Deceit shifts where he stands. “He was supposed to become more ambitious, less held back by fear.”

Roman frowns. “But?”

“Virgil,” Deceit is suddenly sitting beside him on the couch, elbows on his knees and staring at the opposite wall. “I can barely see you in Thomas right now. It’s not me and you making up his dark side, it’s me and Remus.”

Virgil stiffens and pretends he doesn’t see Roman flinch when the white in his hair gets thicker. The prince lifts his hand to finger the pale strands. “Virgil?”

“That wasn’t there before,” says Deceit.

Virgil clenches his eyes shut and says nothing. Inside, he can feel something black and oily bubbling with glee.

The hands fall away from his person and he can feel Deceit being pulled from the couch. “Why didn’t you tell us it was this bad!?” Roman whisper-shouts to Deceit. Virgil pretends he doesn’t hear.

“I’m telling you now.”

“_Not _good enough.”

“Look,” Deceit sounds like he’s biting back a growl. “I didn’t bring you here to lecture me, I got enough of that from Logan.” Logan knew something was up? If he does, Virgil hopes he doesn’t let on to Patton. He’d told Deceit to make sure Morality stayed good and far away. He doesn’t want Patton to feel guilty.

Phantom pain of metal rending into flesh, shattering bone, teeth sinking into his flesh, makes Virgil shiver. It’s not Patton’s fault. Paranoia was the one who let it get this far. This is his bed, and he is going to lay in it even if it kills him.

He really, _ really _hopes it doesn’t.

“Then what did you bring me here for?” asks Roman.

“To help me, help him.” The two drift into silence for a moment. “Dark Creativity is _ your _other half. You must have some idea of what to do.”

Virgil lets out a quiet breath in relief. Deceit is still trying to find them another way out. Some way to win this fight without resorting to their contingency. He doesn’t want the power. He doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before.

He was happy as Anxiety. Or at least, as happy as a Dark side could ever hope to be. He had friends, family, a host who listened to him, and treasured his input. He doesn’t want to lose those things. He doesn’t want to lose _ wanting _those things.

“Virgil?” There is a hand on his right cheek and Virgil recognizes the calloused palm as Roman’s. He opens his eyes and takes quiet note of the way Roman focuses only on his right side, his purple eye. Deceit is watching off the prince’s shoulder, a desperate set to his posture. Roman clears his throat. “Virge, I need to ask you something.”

The prince licks his lips and Virgil can read the anxiety wafting off him in heady waves. The spider breathes it in greedily even as Virgil dreads whatever it is that can bring Roman to such an edge of fear. He swallows, wincing as a mix of venom and saliva travel down his throat and move against the mass on his throat. “What is it?” he asks, gathering what he can of his bravery.

Behind him, Deceit looks away.

“It’s about what we talked about before.” Bits of pink dust the prince’s cheeks and dread pools in Paranoia’s gut to dance with bile and oil. “Paranoia, I need you to know that I love you.”

There it is again. Those three words. Virgil slaps a hand over his mouth when that _ something _twists itself around his insides again to try and make him wretch. Fangs draw blood against his lower lip as Roman gathers him close. His face is being pressed against the prince’s white coat and an arm wraps around his shoulders while the other kneads at the hair on the back of his head. Roman shifts so that his chin is on his shoulder and Virgil wishes he could feel the press of Creativity’s cheek against his own. 

“You believe me, right?” he asks. Virgil is shaking, and as he looks up he can see that Deceit staring hard out the window. His arm is propped on the window frame, and his mouth pressed firm against a closed fist. Every muscle of the serpent looks taut and Virgil finds he cannot read the expression on his oldest friend’s face.

“Why?” he asks, quiet. Because he might believe Roman, but that does not mean he understands.

The prince laughs and it is a watery thing. He pulls away and sets his hands on either of Virgil’s shoulders. “I’ve said it before you know.”

“Hm?”

Roman swipes a thumb along the eyeshadow of Virgil’s right side. “Because you push me to be better than I am. Because when Thomas was young and afraid, you were the one who gave me a reason to create.” There is a spark in Roman’s eyes and it is almost enough to make Virgil miss when Deceit leaves the window and disappears around the corner to the hall. Giving them their privacy. Roman goes on. “You were my muse before I ever knew the word and no matter how many times we might have clashed in the past, you’ve always given me the chance to be brave.”

Virgil thinks he might be digging his claws into Roman’s arm with how hard he is holding him, but the prince doesn’t seem to mind.

He says, “I am who I am today because of you.”

Virgil’s not sure how to respond, so all he does is nod. And he is grateful when Roman seems willing to accept that and take the lead. He takes Virgil’s hand and sits on the couch at Paranoia’s side. “There is a power in my realm,” he says. “One that Deceit and I think might be able to help you.”

Hope is a burgeoning thing, and Virgil does his best to shelter it against the storm that is his aspect. He wants to believe. “What is it?” he asks.

Roman smiles, although it is tentative and not as confident as he is probably trying to make it seem. “I know you have a thing against clichés, but this time I think we might be better for it.” He brushes the hair from Virgil’s face, tucking the mix of black and white away. “Virgil, is there any part of you that feels the same way about me?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Paranoia knows that Deceit is listening. He cannot be unaware of the way the serpent is holding his breath although there is no way of knowing what it is Deceit is hoping to hear. Virgil meets Roman’s eyes and wishes he knew how to interpret the strange tightening in his chest. Patton would know. But Virgil’s never really tried to parcel through these kinds of feelings, he’s only ever tried to forget them.

He knows that he could lie. Give Roman whatever kind of response he wants and leave it at that. Probably, whatever he says Roman would believe too. But not this time. This is twice now that Roman’s left himself out on a limb for Virgil. For that, he’ll at least give the prince the truth.

“I… I don’t know.”

And it hurts. He can see the way a little bit of light dies in Roman’s eyes at Virgil’s unsure response and he tries to pull himself away. Roman doesn’t let him go far. He clasps down hard on Virgil’s hands and though he is no longer looking Paranoia in the eye, he is still there. “That’s okay,” he says, and it’s not, but Roman’s accepting it anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” says Virgil, and somewhere around the bend, Deceit releases a breath.

Roman peeks up at him through drifting russet hair. “Don’t be. But if it’s alright with you, I’d like to try my idea anyway. Just in case.” And now he looks even more apprehensive and Virgil’s heart skips a beat.

“What way’s that?”

“Something as old as fairy tales themselves.” Roman clears his throat and settles one of his hands behind Virgil’s neck. “May I kiss you?”

The _ thing _inside of Virgil recoils in horror, but he fights it off as best he can. The right arm that Roman’s released he reaches over to restrain his left before it can lash out. He holds Roman’s eyes and fights off all he can because this is between him and Roman, and the Duke deserves no part in it. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. Because really, if he says yes it’s Roman risking more than Virgil. It’s the prince putting his heart on the line.

Roman smiles. “Whatever happens, I won’t hold you to it. But like I said, I’m braver when I’m with you.” The prince’s hands are trembling but he doesn’t pull away. “It’s worth it on the chance this works.”

And maybe part of Virgil does feel the same. Because if Roman’s willing to take the chance, then Virgil thinks he can too. Paranoia nods. “Okay then. Do it.” And it’s a dare as much as it is consent. Because that is who they are and that is what they do. They push and challenge and rise up to meet it. And Virgil may not be sure if he believes in True Love’s Kiss or the power it may or may not hold, but he does believe in Roman.

The prince grins and _ there, _the spark is back. Roman’s eyes drift shut and Virgil allows the gentle pressure on the back of his neck to lead him forward. He closes his eyes as the first brush of Roman’s skin tickles his nose.

The moment hovers between them like a small eternity. And then their lips meet.


	37. Chapter 37

_ On the eve of change, the spider calls for him. _

_ The serpent answers. _

_ Braving the open forest, silent with the promise of upheaval, Deceit weaves his undulating form through the cover of the trees. The crisp edges of senescent leaves break against the surface of his scales like water against stone and the serpent tastes the air on the length of his tongue. The flickering pink of forked muscle reads of unnatural stillness, the weight of anticipation. But at least they are alone. _

_ The unobtrusive body of a garter snake allows Deceit a measure of anonymity as he approaches the spider, perched on the apex of a stone. Paranoia appears well-recovered. The grey shirt clothed over Thomas Sanders’ torso is whole, absent of the bloodied tear where Rage had run the spider through. Deceit slides the length of his serpentine form against the bark of a well-grown cypress tree to announce his presence. And when purple eyes cut in his direction, the serpent retakes his more human shape. _

_ As scales pull away to the soft caress of human flesh, something inside him screams. His essence tears and Deceit traps a whimper behind the strength of needle-like fangs as scattered bits of himself fail to conform. Scaled fingers cup the left side of his face, stiff and broken where there is not strength enough to change. It aches and the flesh of his cheek cracks to accommodate an unhinging jaw. _

_ For a breathless moment Deceit relives the feel of Loneliness’ ursine paw upon his second head. The weight of endless solitude and despair sinking in its claws and crushing before the spider could tear him free. Paranoia had torn the bear asunder where before they had hoped to grant the side at least a modicum of mercy. _

_ The serpent survived, ferried to his burrow coiled against the spider’s chest, but the wounds have not healed. In all likelihood they never truly will. Deceit knows in the way his aspect urges him not to tell, that he will wear the scars forever. _

_ Paranoia stands as the serpent lifts himself on two feet. Dismounting from the stone, the spider moves towards Deceit. “You came,” he says, and there is a note of deep relief there that sits wrong on the serpent’s flickering tongue. _

_ “Of course I did.” Deceit carefully sets his palm behind Paranoia’s elbow and pulls him forward, guiding them both under the shadow the cypress tree. The smell of pine will mask their scent and the dense branches above hide them from view. The wolf has not yet left the sanctuary of his den but if he does, they are as hidden as they can be. _

_ The spider is trembling in his touch. He is stronger now. Deceit can feel it, a black abyss churning just beneath the surface of the spider’s skin. It yearns to spread its reach. He can tell it is agony beyond words to keep the spider down, hold it at bay, but Paranoia must. They’ve kept their hand against their chest for this long, they must not falter now. _

_ Hands brush the scale of his brow, tracing down the serpent-half of Deceit’s face in quiet benediction. “I’m so sorry,” says the spider. There are shadows beneath Paranoia’s eyes, deep and black and bleeding into twisting veins of grey fog along the spider’s cheeks. The tips of black claws trace the cracked line of the serpent’s jaw. “Deceit, I’m so sorry.” _

_ “Hey, no.” He catches Paranoia’s hand and pulls it down, tucking the flat of the smooth palm against his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He wants to pull the spider close and wrap him in his coils, trap the warmth he exudes between them and use it to grant each other a deep and needed comfort, but he does not dare. The day must pass and the night to follow before their war is over. He will not leave his scent upon Paranoia for Malice to find. _

_ “I don’t blame you,” he says instead. _

_ Paranoia’s hands tremble and a chill bleeds into the air. Grey clouds in the sky above start to churn. “You should,” he says. _

_ “I don’t.” Deceit curls his reptilian hand around the back of Paranoia’s hand and makes himself smile. It’s a hard thing, and the sensation of his tongue sliding through the unnaturally wide gap in his left side is one that makes his spine crawl. Still, he holds to the hope that has taken them this far. “It’ll be worth it. Trussst me.” How odd a thing for a snake to say, but it remains true all the same. “This will be over soon,” he says. “And we’ll be free.” _

_ Paranoia shakes his head. The spider’s eyes glow a bright and shimmering purple and in response the branches of the canopy begin to thrash in an unnatural wind. A peal of thunder rolls from the shadow of the towering mountain and Deceit’s heart pounds in his chest. It’s a remarkable display of power, one that they have fought to build for Paranoia for so long, he almost cannot remember what it felt like before the conspiracy first began. It makes the unstable shuddering of the spider’s shoulders all the more alarming as panic begins to build. _

_ “I can’t do this. Deceit, I can’t- this was a mistake.” _

_ There is a moaning in the wind, like the cry of a banshee and the serpent flinches as cold air whips at his cheeks. He steps forward and takes Paranoia’s face between his hands. “Yes, you can.” _

_ Paranoia shakes his head against Deceit’s palms. “I can’t.” _

_ “One more day,” he reminds the spider. “One more, and Malice will be gone.” _

_ Paranoia lifts his hands to the serpent’s forearms, claws tearing through the fabric of the Deceit's long-sleeved shirt to prickle at his scales. He says, “It’s not Malice I’m afraid of.” _

_ Deceit blinks. “What?” For a moment the wind and thunder cease. Then, in the vacuum of silence, a droplet of rain splits itself upon the razor surface of a blade of grass. The serpent asks, “What are you talking about?” _

_ A trembling hand goes to Paranoia’s chest and grips the grey fabric of his shirt. The spider’s eyes shut. “I-It’s me,” he says. “I can feel it, Deceit. It’s doing things to me, CHANGING me. I hate it!” The spider’s free hand grips the side of his head and his shoulders bow. “It’s too much. The others, their voices. They’re getting louder and they won’t SHUT UP!” _

_ Lighting flashes above their heads and rain begins to pour in earnest, icy and thick. Deceit crowds in closer to avoid the wet and the chill and the motion brings Paranoia retreating back against the fibrous surface of the cypress trunk. He urges the spider’s head up with the tip of a single, clawed finger and waits for the other side’s eyes to find his. He gives Paranoia a sad smile. “Listen to me. You can do this.” _

_ Paranoia holds his gaze for a moment, something new and fragile hidden in his eyes. And then, moving much too quickly for the serpent to appropriately respond, he takes Deceit’s face in both hands and crashes their mouths together. _

_ It is a clumsy thing. All fumbling and teeth and desperation and it is over before either of them really know what it is they’ve just done. Given hindsight, they might even be embarrassed at their dismal performance but for the moment, neither can think or move beyond the tingling of their lips and the rush of water pouring down around them in their little alcove of green. _

_ While Deceit is left blinking, it is Paranoia who manages to compose himself first. “I-I’m sorry. I just… I had to.” _

_ Deceit shakes his head. “No, it’s… it’s okay.” The serpent touches the pad of a scaled finger to his lower lip and stares at the flush of pink on Paranoia’s pale cheeks. _

_ “Really?” _

_ A quick succession of nods. “Um, yeah.” Beyond, Thomas Sanders is barely cresting the age of adolescence. Hormones have barely begun their tumultuous cycle but in the Dark side of the mind, those who wish to survive have aged quickly. _

_ Paranoia licks his lips. “Good,” and with all the strength they’ve gathered, he pulls the serpent down again. They stand there and experiment with things they have no context for but the vague instinctive knowledge that this is how to show affection. Nothing but the feeling of _ right _ to guide them. This time, it is Deceit who pulls away. _

_ “Wait,” he says. In the sky, the storm abruptly halts. _

_ Paranoia swipes a hand across his mouth, eyes snapping open and unsure. “What’s wrong?” _

_ “You’re not-” Deceit’s not sure if he wants to ask. This feels good, this feels right, and he doesn’t want to risk it. But… Paranoia had sounded so frightened before. “You’re not doing this because you’re scared, are you?” He begs a negative response, but in his aspect, the truth is already etched in stone. _

_ The silence that falls but for the lingering droplets of water descending from the trees is answer enough. Deceit buries his hands in his hair and turns away. “Paranoia…” _

_ “I like you, okay!” A hand bunches itself in the back of his shirt, refusing to let him move any further away. “Deceit, I really, really do, but I’m scared that- I’m scared that if I can beat Malice tomorrow, I won’t anymore.” Paranoia’s voice is trembling and broken but Deceit doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want the spider to see him fighting away his own stinging corneas. When at last he feels that nothing is pouring down his serpent half, that is the part of his face he turns over his shoulder. _

_ “I like you too,” he admits. “But I don’t… I don’t want to do this just because you’re scared we won’t get another chance.” _

_ “You don’t understand.” Paranoia drops Deceit’s shirt and his hands bury themselves in the bark against his back. “Every. Time. Everytime I take another Dark side it’s like I lose a part of myself to the power.” The spider sniffs and Deceit can see the edge of a fang burying itself in his lower lip. “What if the last part I lose is you?” _

_ Steeling himself, the serpent turns around and takes the spider by the hands. “You won’t. Ever.” He runs the tips of pale claws through the curtain of Paranoia’s drifting bangs. “Listen, we are going to win tomorrow. We’ll beat Malice, and you’ll be stronger than ANYONE.” Deceit grins through the discordant vision of his mismatched eyes. “Then we’ll figure out what this is.” _

_ The spider does not look comforted. “But what if we don’t? O-Or what if we do, and I’m not me anymore?” Paranoia throws himself around Deceit and buries his face in the other side’s chest. He holds Deceit tight enough that the serpent's ribs creak. “I don’t want to stop feeling this way about you.” _

_ The serpent holds the spider back as much as he can. “That won’t happen. And even if it does, I promise I’ll still be here.” He wiggles himself free of Paranoia’s arms and drags his pinky in an ‘x’ across the left side of his chest. “Remember, I’ll follow you through the pit of Darkness or the heart of Light.” he swears. “No matter what, okay?” _

_ Paranoia does not look entirely eased. There is still a tremble to his fingers and a nervous light to his eyes, but he does seem better. Courage shines, deep under the fear, and Deceit can see it getting ever closer to the surface. “Okay,” he says. “Tomorrow, then.” It’s a promise. _

_ Deceit nods. “Tomorrow. Now, go.” _

_ They’ve lingered too long already. Malice will have seen the storm and know that something has stirred Paranoia’s power. The wolf will come sniffing before the hour is done and they must be long gone before that happens. They need to scatter and hide until it is time for their trap to spring. Both of them have come too far, risked too much to falter now. _

_ The spider goes first. Legs sliding free from his back and disappearing up into the canopy with the occasional aid of bolting webbing. Deceit watches him go, preparing to leave the moment he knows the other safe. His hesitance is what lets him hear the fibrous snap of a twig somewhere at his back. _

_ “Ten bucks say you regret that, two-face.” _

_ The serpent snarls, rounding on his heel and scales spreading as he comes face to face with the Duke. The Dark half of Creativity is leaning on one shoulder against the chafing bark of a deadened tree. Ink bleeds stark and black against the pale surface of the petrified wood from the point of contact down to gather in a pool at Dark Creativity’s feet. _

_ The Duke looks unmoved by the serpent’s posture of aggression and twists his lips in a smirk that nearly unseats the wilted paper crown upon his head and smears the clumsily stenciled mustache drawn over his upper lip with what looks like blue pen. _

_ Deceit hisses. “How much of that did you see?” _

_ Dark Creativity shrugs. “Enough.” A giggle bubbles in the octopus’ throat and the press of fingertips against his lips is a poor attempt to hold it back. “Malice won’t be happy.” _

_ The serpent narrows his eyes and debates the speed with which he can shift forms and strangle the Duke in his coils. “Is that why you crawled out of whatever hole you were hiding in all this time?” he asks. Deceit chances a step forward, but a silver morningstar manifests in the Duke’s hands before he even takes the first. _

_ “Ah-ah,” he lifts the finger of his empty hand, eyes wide with manic chastisement. “Let’s not push our luck, hm? Wouldn’t want to bring unwanted attention.” The wind is swift and silent without Paranoia’s influence to stir it into frenzy. Whatever noise they make, will travel far. The serpent retreats. _

_ “Why are you here, Duke?” Deceit grits behind clenched teeth. _

_ “Just curious.” The octopus’ nimble fingers twist the morningstar in his grip. “I take a quick trip to visit my better half, wreak a little havoc in the Light, and what do you know, when I come back,” the Duke quirks his head and lifts his shoulders. “All my friends are dead!” Dark Creativity laughs, bellowing and mad. “And lo and behold, I find YOU, and the twink, snogging it under a tree while standing on a mountain of their corpses!” _

_ The morningstar melts away like black ice as tentacles slip from the octopus’ back. Deceit recoils, mind racing to calculate a retreat. He cannot face the Duke like this, not when his injuries have left him little better than crippled. _

_ The serpent goes stiff. “Are you going to tell him? Malice?” _

_ Aggression leaks out of Dark Creativity’s stance and he shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just sit back and wait for the fireworks.” Slow, deliberate strides bring the Duke within range of Deceit and he lifts the fluttering tip of a tentacle to trace the underside of the serpent’s neck. “Your boy will NEVER beat Malice.” _

_ Deceit glares out the corner of his human eye, but does not dare try to move. “You’re wrong.” _

_ Dark Creativity leans right in over the curve of Deceit’s ear. “Then I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, eh? Either way, you’re an idiot.” The hot breath of the Duke is foul against the serpent’s nose and Deceit grimaces. Dark Creativity blows a kiss. “That, my slippery friend, is what we call, letting the one get away,” he says, fingers dancing in the space between them. _

_ “I don’t need advice from you.” Deceit growls and jerks away. “Some things are more important than instant gratification.” _

_ The Duke laughs and glides away, giving the serpent back his space. “Whatever you say, prude. Just remember that I told you so.” The octopus grins, dark and dangerous, and disperses himself in a splatter of oil and sludge that pools in the underbrush. Deceit follows suit soon after, whisking himself away in a flurry of sand and heat. He tries very hard to forget what the Duke has said. _

_ The next day, the serpent will lead the wolf on a winding chase. One that will end with the spider descending from the trees to bring down the last and greatest of its prey. And on the blackest part of night, christening a new age, Paranoia will ascend its throne of blood and bone, the serpent standing ever dutifully in the spider’s devouring shadow. _

_ It will not descend for many years. And when it does, the spider will have long forgotten its promise. _

**Fifteen Years Later… **

The memory stirs like an ancient covenant. One that the serpent has folded away, set aside, and chosen to forfeit. And yet-

In the breadth of time it takes for Roman and Virgil’s kiss to linger, Deceit finds himself adrift. The cool touch of drywall against his back is all that seems to ground the serpent in reality as the rest of the world floats by like motes of sand. His trembling hands are clasped together as he presses them against his brow and in the shadow of the hall, there is no one to see him shake, or notice the blood dripping from where his fangs pierce his lip. He tries very hard not to think about the sides sitting beside each other just on the other side of plaster and wood.

He should be relieved, really. He should be cheering and pumping his fist in the air for even the chance at such a clean and easy fix. Things always seem to happen that way for the Light side. Such simple solutions to solve the messiest of problems. 

Just one kiss. 

So, why? Deceit lifts his head, all but forces himself to turn in witness, and tries to make sense of why the breathless silence of the room beyond tears at the foundation of his soul. 

He should be relieved, because Deceit may have lost his chance with Virgil, -lost it to power and circumstance and too much time- but Roman… He knows the prince will take every advantage of his. He's earned the right to try. Earned it by helping to guide back the heart Deceit had let slip from Paranoia's chest over the last two years. His love is true, Deceit has no need for proof of that. It is self-evident, in the way Roman holds himself back even now. How he resists with an iron will from pushing deeper into the press of lips. The way the serpent can see the Light side’s face twist not with satisfaction or pleasure, but a determined sort of desperation. 

Please. _ Please. _ Deceit can almost hear the mantra in Creativity’s mind. _ Please, work. _

This is the best possible outcome. All loose ends tied, victory assured. So, why is it that Deceit cannot watch without feeling like a hand is clutching at his heart? Why is it that he can hear the part of himself that once called itself Loneliness cry out above all the other clamouring voices to echo in his head?

This is fine, he tells himself. Deceit lifts a finger to trace the length of unmarred skin along the left side of his face. I’m okay with this.

Roman twitches as if to end the kiss and, as if pulled by gravity, Virgil follows. For a brief instant it is the spider maintaining the kiss and not the prince. Paranoia leans forward and while the contact of their lips breaks, both sides remain in close proximity, their foreheads pressed against one another and eyes hooded, unseeing. They’ve all but forgotten their audience lingering in the shadows.

Snakes are not meant to be social creatures. A rattling hiss stirs in the back of Deceit’s throat that never touches air. It’s time to move on, he thinks. He no longer needs the spider’s protection, and the spider has found itself a prince. 

_ But I don’t want to. _

He’s my friend. I have to let him go.

_ He’s all I’ve ever had. I can’t. _

“Virgil?” The sound of Roman’s voice pulls Deceit from his mental spiral. He jerks and steps from the shadow of the hall, entering into the main part of the room just as the prince manages to pull his focus from the part in Virgil’s lips. Roman has one hand resting at the crook of Paranoia’s elbow while the other brushes a thumb over a raised line of scar tissue cutting across the side of the spider’s face. 

Virgil licks his lips and leans into the prince’s hand. “Well,” he says, voice slightly hoarse with apprehension. “I didn’t hate that.” Under other circumstances, perhaps not the best of first words to say, but there is an uncertain spark of levity in Paranoia’s eyes that speaks of deflective humor rather than shallow praise. 

The tension breaks as Roman’s face opens up in a smile. “I guess I’ll take that as a win.” There is a softer grin that spreads on the prince’s face and he dips forward to deliver a quick press of lips to the corner of the Dark side’s mouth before shifting further back. Brown eyes scan Virgil’s face for signs of change and Deceit holds his breath.

“Anything?” Virgil asks, and his eyes dart over Roman’s shoulder to Deceit, dragging the prince’s focus right along with him. Suddenly there are too many eyes on him and the serpent crosses his arms, schooling his face in careful neutrality.

Deceit meets the shimmering purple eye he’s known all of Thomas’ life and wonders why now of all times, a conceivable lie dances out of his reach. Emerald green and the twisting black of infection mock the serpent and all his efforts.

“No,” he says, and he will forever blame Patton for why the crestfallen looks Paranoia and Creativity send him wrack Deceit with guilt. It’s not as if this is his fault. 

The memory of that night of rebellion sparks unbidden, and Deceit shoves it back down with all his might. Crushes it under a dragon’s weight and ignores the way the shade of Jealousy gathers it close to gloat. Memories of rain. Of pine needles in his hair and thunder in the sky. He remembers the smell of cypress and the softest taste of lavender on his lips. How the air had been heavy with the promise of lightning and how it had made his scales itch. 

That wasn’t… that was different. _ They _had been different.

Virgil lifts a hand to clasp over the mass of red and black and blue on his neck. Deceit tries not to think about the way the shadows hug at the lines of his jaw. Of how gaunt the spider seems, fighting the creeping shadow of the Duke lurking in his own veins. Roman leans forward and pulls Paranoia deep into an embrace, wrapping his arms around the spider’s shoulders and holding him close.

“I’m sorry,” the prince whispers, and Deceit is unsure whether or not he was supposed to hear. “God, Virgil, I’m _ so _sorry.”

So much for believing in love conquers all, friendship is magic type bullshit. Fire sparks in his chest and Deceit may not have a right to feel bitter about the prince's failure, but it doesn't change that he does.

“It’s not your fault,” says Virgil, and out of Roman’s sights he casts another look to Deceit. Through some harsh deficit of luck, the angle is such that it is the green eye that finds him and the serpent has to suppress a shudder. 

He supposes there was only ever one way this was going to end.

“Roman, listen. I don’t care if it didn’t work.” Virgil clutches the prince tight and says, “It means everything to me that you tried.”

Something prickles at Deceit’s senses. He holds Virgil’s gaze and flexes the fingers of his hand. The spider’s eyes track to the beating pulse point of Deceit's wrist, then slide shut, and he turns instead into Roman’s neck. Deceit feels as if a door has been shut in his face.

“I’ll survive, it’s the one thing I'm good at.” A claw-tipped hand traces up the side of Roman’s head and tangles itself in the prince’s hair. 

“What are you going to do?” asks Roman.

Virgil’s eyes cut to Deceit and the serpent dutifully rolls up his sleeve. He offers the spider his wrist. This time, Paranoia nods, releasing his breath in a sigh. “What I have to.”


End file.
